


Hum Hallelujah

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Series: Sometimes We Take Chances [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Chapter a Day, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Bakery and Coffee Shop, M/M, Pretend the time line isn't wonky, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8722552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: Draco and Pansy are co-owners of a Muggle bookstore (with a coffee nook). After the war, the children of Death Eaters weren't really welcome in Wizard society, and well, baking treats and brewing coffee is almost like making potions. And it's all good. 
Until He arrives.





	1. The Bookstore

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I foolishly joined [25 Days of Draco and Harry](http://slythindor100.livejournal.com/) again. I hope you'll hang with me each day :) This chapter is based on this photo: 
> 
> Also, please ignore the fact that my timeline is wonky. Let's agree this is 10 years after the war.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to three people who've done their best to school me in The Ways of the UK.  
> [Kizzywiggle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle), her sister [Kris](https://twitter.com/superkrispydj), and [Hils](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hils/pseuds/Hils) . Take a sec or 10 to go read Hils and Kiz. I'll be here waiting with your _you're welcome._

“Merlin’s hairy balls, you’ll never believe who just walked in!”

Pansy cast a _Muffliato_ over her shoulder as she grabbed Draco by his shirt front and dragged him across the serving counter. The pen in his apron pocket stabbed his chest, and he added it to the list of **Things I Hate About Pansy Parkinson** and prayed she stopped pulling before his crotch hit the edge of the counter.

“You’re pretty fucking strong for a—” Draco strangled out as he tried to twist her wrists out of his shirt.

“Don’t. Say. It.” Pansy released Draco, who slid down until his feet hit the floor. Pansy straightened her shirt (which hadn’t been mussed as she’d manhandled Draco) and pressed her hands down the front of her snug skirt. She checked behind her before she hissed, “Himself is here!”

Draco popped up on toes to see over Pansy’s shoulders. “Lucius? Is here? Where?” Nope. No. Uh uh. He did _not_ need whatever drama that bastard was carrying around in his baggage.

Pansy pffft. “No. Himself. The Chosen One. He Who is Always Named.” She rolled her eyes. “Draco, get back up here.”

Draco dropped to a crouch behind the counter and motioned for Pansy to join him. She tiptoed to him, careful not to allow her heels to tap against the hardwood floors. She squatted next to him and whispered in his ear. “What the actual fuck are you doing down here, Draco?”

“You do realize you can speak as loud as you like since you used the _Muffliato_?” Draco’s words fell short of the usual crisp, tart snark. He felt the heat of embarrassment rising as he turned away from Pansy and pretended to riffle through the boxes of coffee on the shelves under the cash register. He wasn’t ready for this--hadn’t seen any of the Hogwarts Heroes since his trial. He’d avoided Potter after the acquittal, never thanked him for testifying. His words had kept Narcissa out of Azkaban. He’d even spoken kind lies about Draco when he’d never done anything to deserve them. 

_…Draco Malfoy never wanted to hurt Dumbledore…couldn’t bring himself to raise his wand…kept me safe…_

Pansy pulled Draco from his thoughts when she lifted his elbow out of the rubbish bin, wet coffee grounds staining the elbow of his new Alexander McQueen. _Fucking hell._ This was Potter’s fault.

“It’s been ten years,” Pansy said, hauling Draco to his feet. “Face him. Bury the hatchet.”

Draco snatched his wand from the pencil can and cast a cleansing spell, knowing it wouldn’t really remove the stain. “What if I bury it in him?”

Pansy snickered as she walked away. “Like _that’s_ what you want to bury in him.”

Draco sputtered as he removed his apron and threw it in a crumpled ball next to the espresso maker.

“Don’t deny it, darling,” she singsonged, the click click clack of her heels punctuating her sentence. “We all knew.”


	2. That Took Balls (the Ornamental type)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank Merlin that Draco's dealt with his demons. Or he might take it out on Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter was based on this prompt:  
> 

“Welcome to _Babbitty Rabbitty!_ ” Pansy warbled as she pretended Potter was any other customer. “If you need any help, don’t hesitate to ask!”

“Pansy Parkinson, right?” Harry’s smile was bright and genuine when he recognized her. “Harry. Harry Potter.” He juggled the bags he held so he could shake her hand. 

Draco rolled his eyes as he left his boutique bakery area. Only Saint Potter would be humble enough to assume she wouldn’t remember him. 

Draco rolled his eyes harder as Pansy feigned shock. “Oh my goodness, Harry Potter! It’s lovely to see you.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek and Draco swore he sicked up just a little bit in his mouth. “Draco, honey. Come see who’s found us!”

 _That fucking bint._ That was going on the **Things I Hate about Pansy Parkinson** list, too. At this point, it would be easier to change it to things he _liked_.

Draco stepped next to Pansy and desperately regretted his stained shirt. This wasn’t the impression he wanted to give Potter, that he was some ill-kempt ragamuffin. Especially when, by some miracle, Potter seemed to be wearing clothes that fit and were almost in style. 

Harry’s smile grew when he saw Draco; he extended his hand, but Draco scowled and barely nodded in acknowledgement. Harry withdrew his hand and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. 

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry asked, churlishly if Draco did say so himself. 

“Well.” Draco pasted on a shark smile. “ _I’m_ not a cretin. I actually read. What are _you_ doing here.”

Draco knew there wasn’t much Potter could say to that. He was pretty sure that in the six years Potter spent at Hogwarts, he likely hadn’t cracked open a book once. That was Granger’s job. Draco almost felt bad when Harry’s face pinked with embarrassment. “I need a Christmas gift for Hermione and you know how she is about books. I usually can’t even pronounce the books she talks about.”

“I may have just the thing.” Pansy patted Harry’s shoulder and disappeared toward the back room, where they kept the scant few Wizarding books they stocked.

Potter looked around the cozy bookstore, eyeing the fireplace and the bright flames. “It’s cold out, huh.”

Draco stared at him, shocked by his utter lack of social skills. The weather. “Yes, it tends to be that way in December.”

Draco mentally kicked himself when he saw Potter cringe. This wasn’t how to keep customers. There was no call for him to be ugly to Potter, who was just standing there, making conversation, looking flustered with his hands filled with Christmas gifts for his perfect family in his perfect life.

“Oh, hey. A coffee shop.”

Draco fell off balance as he spun around; his elbow knocked over the dreadful Muggle artificial tree that had been sitting on top of a bookcase. The cheap plastic red and green ornaments (that Pansy had insisted were perfectly Muggle appropriate) fell to the floor, bouncing away. Draco stomach dropped; it was bad enough to look a fool but to do it in front of Potter was worse. 

He didn't know whether to pretend it never happened or to pick them up and look even clumsier than he already did. Out of the side of his eye, Draco snuck a peek at Potter, who was biting his bottom lip and doing an excellent job of almost hiding his smile. Before Draco could decide, Harry dropped his bags to the floor and slid his wand from the pocket inside his Muggle jacket. He cast a well-practiced retrieve and repair spell, setting the tree back on the bookshelf. 

Potter tucked the wand back inside his jacket. “I could really go for a cup of that coffee. Is it any good?” 

“It’s very good. The best in London. But it’s um, closed now.” Draco knew his ears were bright red from both the embarrassment and the lie. 

“What's closed?” Pansy asked, as she strode back toward them. She handed the book to Harry who stared at the cover. “It’s a Muggle cookbook,” Pansy explained. “Very Wizard friendly. I know someone who uses this—” 

Draco choked on air and bent over coughing. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t want Harry to know that he was a baker and coffee brewer. He felt—less, inept, a disappointment with Lucius’ worn-out words on replay. And Potter was some Ministry bigwig, and here Draco was. A glorified shop clerk.

“My friend says it’s very easy to add magic to the recipes,” Pansy added as she pounded on Draco’s back to help him clear his cough. “Have you heard anything like that, Draco?” she asked with a wide grin.

“No, I haven’t.” Draco yanked the book from Potter’s hands and jammed it into an overfilled shelf behind him, succeeding only in knocking the tree over again. “You would truly be happier at Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley. This is a Muggle bookstore.”

“I noticed, Malfoy.” 

Pansy retrieved the book and gave it to Harry. “Don’t mind him. He gets cranky when he has to talk to people for too long.” She glared at Draco, easily telegraphing _Behave!_

"Thanks, Pansy.” Harry cradled the book as if he were afraid Malfoy would try to take it again. “Why a Muggle bookstore, though, especially with a name like _Babbitty Rabbitty_?”

Draco felt his old anger and resentment rise; he could see it on Pansy, too, in the way she set her jaw and the white thin line of her lips. Before he could stop himself, Draco said, “Death Eater families weren’t really welcome in Wizarding society after the war, now were they? So what choice did we have? We moved to London and made a life here.”

Harry started to respond, but he stopped before he said anything. 

Draco didn’t mind that at all. Let Saint Potter think for a moment. Because there was nothing he _could_ say. The “good” Wizards had done a fucking awesome job of railroading them. 

Pansy wrapped her arm around Draco’s waist and pulled him closer. “It’s still a touchy subject, as you may have guessed.” With the store empty of other customers, she _accio'd_ one of the store’s bags and placed the cookbook inside. “I’m sure Hermione will enjoy this. Please have it with our compliments.”

Harry argued but Draco cut him off. “If you’re finished with your shopping, you are welcome to use our Floo.” He pointed to the fireplace and his intention was clear. _Leave._

“I’m just gonna, uh—” Harry gathered the rest of his packages from the floor. “—Door.”

Draco felt an epic anxiety episode nipping at the edges of his composure. Potter should just leave and forget he ever walked into _Babbitty Rabbitty_. That would be best for everyone.

Harry walked through the awkward silence to the entry. Draco couldn’t see Potter, but heard the bells jangle as he let himself out.

“For what it’s worth—” Harry’s voice, carried to where Draco and Pansy stood. “I really am sorry about how you were treated.”

As Harry shut the door, a cold wind blew in. Draco shivered but breathed it in. 

It felt like the first breath he’d taken since Harry Potter walked into the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come hang with me on [Tumblr](http://burning-up-ao3.tumblr.com/) I'm an NHL hockey, Check Please, Potterverse, Sherlock tumblr.


	3. Frosty the Coffeeman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Pansy rips Draco a new one for being unfriendly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt: 

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

Pansy’s comment barely registered; Draco was focused on breathing the air that was filling the vacuum in the store.

“You were horrible to him.” Pansy pulled her wand from the inside of her maxi cardigan and cleaned up the tree mess. “Thank Merlin I decided against proper blown glass ornaments. They’d never survive you and Potter.”

Draco forced himself away from his thoughts and answered Pansy. “I decided against proper blown glass ornaments. Because _you_ named the store _Babbitty Rabbitty_ and the Muggles think it’s a children’s bookstore. And they bring their filthy, snotty, sticky-fingered spawn in here.”

“One word: Scorpius. And also, don’t change the subject, Draco. It’s warmer outside than you were to him.” Pansy stalked to the front door. 

“Scorpius isn’t snotty!” Draco yelled as he heard the door open, felt the frigid air that was cold, too cold now, no longer filling the void. It was just fucking freezing. He returned to his coffee shop (because you could call it an artisan bakery or him an Arabica artist, but in the end, it was just a coffee shop) and began the nightly process of closing. He swirled hot tap water in his glass pots and set them back on the cool burners, ready to be rinsed and used again in the morning. As the espresso machine cleaned itself, he gathered the few remaining bakery treats, dividing them equally into two paper sacks. 

The store dimmed as Pansy pulled the plug on the fairy lights in the display window, now frosted as the temperatures dipped at dusk. “He was genuinely pleased to see you.” Her voice carried from the sales desk as she slowly counted the Muggle money.

Draco scoffed.

“I heard that,” Pansy called out. She cast the nightly security spells for the store and the cash register before making her way back to Draco, who handed her one of the bags of treats.

“I made them early this morning, so they’re probably stale. Feed them to Candida; owls will eat anything.” Draco turned back to the sputtering espresso machine, the cleaning cycle almost complete. 

“This discussion isn’t over. He _was_ happy to see you. He almost begged you to buy him coffee.” She opened the sack and pulled out a slice of lemon pound cake for a taste. “Ugh, this is stale. I think he was flirting.”

“He wasn’t flirting, and I _told_ you it was stale, you stupid cow.” Draco threw the balled-up apron into the laundry basket at the other end of the counter. When he came in tomorrow, he’d have to run a load of wash. Which reminded him: he had to finish Scorpius’ laundry and add this shirt to it—hopefully, the stain would respond to one of the stain removers he’d brewed. If he knew Astoria (and he did), she’d send their son back to Draco tomorrow night with a backpack full of dirty laundry. And _she_ had a house elf.

_“I could really go for a cup of that coffee.”_ Pansy mimicked Harry’s voice. “Buy me a cup Draco, and we can sit together, and talk about old times as I stare into your eyes and dream about how much I want to fuck you right now.”

“You should write a book, since you just invented that entire scenario. He’s happily married for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t know, Draco. He was twisting his wedding ring like he’s not used to wearing it. And since he works in the Department of Mysteries, it’s not like we’d ever know.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He won’t be back.” _I basically made sure of that. Idiot._

Pansy swept up some of the glittery green powder from the bowl on the mantle. She tossed it into the flames and stepped in as she said _Parkinson Place_.

What she’d said finally registered. “Department of Mysteries? For real?”

But Pansy was gone. 

 

~*~

Draco re-cast the security wards after ensuring he was alone on the street. They’d made a sort of success of their partnership. He had customers who came in daily for coffee and something sweet. Pansy’s weekly book club brought in extra business and the monthly meet and greets with local authors were always popular. No sense in fucking up what they’d created by a poorly timed spell. 

He’d get some take away for dinner, maybe treat himself by sitting at the pub and eating instead, then head home for an exciting evening of laundry. Plus, he wanted to find a new recipe for tomorrow. He hadn’t said anything to Pansy, but maybe a new cookie each day until Christmas. 

Draco walked past the local pub and then doubled back. He’d really intended to get Indian take away, but the aromas of the food when someone opened the pub door. Fish & chips. Greasy comfort food, nothing healthy or good for him. 

Batter dipped. Deep fried. Pea purée with just the right about of mint. He could never get that exactly right. 

The pub was more crowded than he’d expected, but he noticed several large groups, each having pushed tables into long lines. He slid into the last available booth and watched the people having a good time as they ate and drank and talked. 

As he ate, he lost himself in the loud conversation and white noise around him. It reminded him of the Great Room at Hogwarts, and he ached with loneliness. The years there hadn’t all been bad. Eating with his friends, laughing about stupid assignments, talking about Quidditch. Even stealing looks at the Gryffindor table, half the time catching Potter staring at him. 

He could admit now that, when he knew Harry was watching him, he’d preened a little and pretended it wasn’t all Order of the Phoenix business. That maybe a part of Potter thought about him, wanted him, too. When Potter tailed him every time he left a classroom, Draco imagined leading him to a deserted hallway and confronting him, throwing punches until they were both on the floor, grabbing and trying to gain control, pinning the other to the cold stone floor until the punches turned into kisses and the kisses turned into fucking. 

More nights then he could count, Draco pulled his curtains tight around his bed and fell asleep, spent, with the fantasy of him fucking Potter fresh in his mind. 

But this wasn’t Hogwarts where his biggest worry had been an upcoming Quidditch match. Where a Death Eater’s son could dream that The Chosen One might be interested in dating him. 

This was the real world, where comfort food tasted like cardboard and the only thing that waited for him at home was laundry.


	4. That Burns My Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's the baker and master coffee brewer. And apparently, kind of likes kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt: 
> 
> I really must thank the following three amazing people: superkrispydj, kizletwiggle, and [Hils](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hils/pseuds/Hils). They answer every single British question I have. They're 1000% patient, and I love them. Any mistakes are mine.

The fireplace roared to life, and Pansy stepped out looking stunning, of course. Wearing _Victoria Beckham_ , of course. A white pencil skirt and a scarlet wrap bow blouse. The only concession she made to the fact that she worked retail was that her _Ferragamo_ pumps had what Narcissa always called “sensible heels.”

And Draco knew that, when the shoppe closed at 9 tonight, she would look as stunning and spotless as she did at this moment.

“Stop gaping, darling. It doesn’t suit you.” Pansy pressed her finger under his chin and pushed up.

Draco, his hands dusty with flour, threatened to toss some at her.

“Don’t you dare, Draco Malfoy, or I won’t tell you the juicy details of my date last evening.” She came behind the counter and poured herself a cup of the Coffee of the Day, _a secret, exotic blend of beans from around the world._ “Merlin, this is exactly what I needed. I love your coffee; one cup and I believe I can take on the world. When are you going to tell me what mix you use?”

Draco grinned. “Never. Because you’ll get sloppy drunk one night and spill all of my secrets to your lazy boyfriend. And he’ll publish them in the _Prophet.”_

Pansy tossed her hair, refilled her mug, and made her way to the front of the store with just enough time to remove the wards and open the store.

When Draco and Pansy agreed to be business partners, one of their founding principles was that they would never use magic to coerce customers into buying their products. They’d run the store the Muggle way, and if they were a success, it would be because of their hard work, not because of magic.

And Draco had stuck to that. He mixed and rolled and cut the biscuits himself, including the tedious decorating. He used Muggle ovens and their ridiculous potholders. He brewed the coffee with restaurant style automatic drip coffee makers and had the burn marks on his hand from the times he tried to sneak a cup for an impatient customer as the coffee was brewing.

But They’d never specified he couldn’t occasionally use magical ingredients. Like Dirigible Plums. He diced and dried it at home and slipped it into the standard ground coffee that everyone brewed. Draco didn’t know if he agreed with Luna’s father that Dirigible Plums “helped one to accept the extraordinary,” but people liked his coffee—loved it—and he had enough repeat customers that he’d tripled his order since they’d opened.

“Once more into the breach, dear friend, once more!” Pansy called as she unlocked the front door.

Draco slipped the morning’s 10th batch of shortbread into the oven and began filling the display case with his biscuits—chocolate chip, sugar, lemon iced, and some biscotti he’d made last night after dinner because they sounded good. If Pansy liked them, they’d be tomorrow’s special.

“Happy Saturday!” Pansy welcomed the handful of customers who’d been waiting for her to unlock the door.

Draco grabbed his green and red glass markers and dashed around to the front of the display case. He drew green holly with red berries to frame the tray of shortbread, hoping to draw attention to the new treat. He stepped back to assess his work. Maybe his preschool art skills would be endearing. Or you know, he’d accept pity purchases.

“Looks good,” a voice behind Draco said. “It _is_ supposed to be holly, right?”

Draco jumped and grabbed his chest. “Oh Mer—My God. You surprised me!”

Draco turned around, and

Potter.

Back again.

This time, he was with a mini-Potter.

“Came back for the best coffee in London,” Harry smiled hesitantly, as if he didn’t know what Draco would say. “And maybe a shortbread biscuit or two?” He looked down at his son who nodded enthusiastically.

Draco’s brain raced as he dragged himself behind the coffee counter. He spun through ways he could lie about being the baker/brewer, or he could tell Potter the truth and fuck it, what did his opinion matter anyway. He’d never thought this was beneath him, not when he and Pansy had dreamed it up, not once in the five years since they opened _Babbitty Rabbitty_. But today, with Potter in front of him, he had a twinge of regret for the Draco he Could Have Been.

He retrieved his freshly-pressed apron from his satchel and draped it over his neck. Took as long to tie it around his waist as he could justify. To realize that he loved baking, enjoyed the art of creation. That people left him happier than they’d arrived and that was all him. And maybe he hadn’t had a date in eleventy-seven years, but he had Scorpius and that was enough.

“Just a biscuit or two? They’re on special—a fiver for twelve.” Draco folded up a large box and left it on top of the glass display case as Potter and his son negotiated the bare minimum number of cookies the child absolutely, positively needed to continue his life.

Draco did not smile. Because it didn’t remind him of Scorpius at all.

He poured two mugs of coffee and brought them to the counter. He’d been here since 7 am; he could afford to take a break for a few moments.

“Excuse me, sir,” a little voice said, muffled by the glass. “May we have a dozen shortbread biscuits, please.”

Manners? Couldn’t be Potter’s influence. Although he wasn’t sure that Ginevra brought etiquette to the table, either.

“Would you like to pick them out yourself?” Draco asked, surprising himself. The boy nodded again and stuck his greasy, dirty, sticky fingers to the case to point out his first choice.

Ok, they weren’t actually greasy, dirty, or sticky. Draco crooked his finger and motioned for him to come around the counter. “Shhh. Don’t tell anyone we did this. What’s your name?”

“Albus Severus Potter,” the boy said solemnly, as if he knew the weight the names carried. “My friends call me Al.”

“I’m Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Draco said, equally as solemnly. “My friends call me Mr. Draco.”

Al smiled full and bright as Draco plucked two plastic gloves from the dispenser. He slid one over each of Al’s hands, and the gloves dwarfed the already tiny hands. “I know they’re hard to use,” Draco said, “but it keeps the food safe for us to eat. Next time, we’ll wash our hands first.”

Draco grabbed the box from the top of the case and slid the glass door open. He squatted down and let Al reach in and pick 12 biscuits, each one chosen with deep thought. They counted together and when they hit a dozen, Draco whispered, “Choose two more.”

Those two he had Al place on mismatched plates and take out to one of the tables in the sitting area. Draco tried to throw away Al’s gloves, but he insisted on folding them up and stuffing them in the pocket of his trousers. “I’m going to show Jamie and Lily when we get home!”

Draco knew how goofy his grin was, but it wasn’t nearly as soppy as Potter’s. “What?” Draco asked, doing his best to sound indignant as he handed Potter the cup of coffee. “It’s like you had no idea I could speak to a child without biting his head off.”

“I didn’t expect it,” Potter said, his raised eyebrow saying something about the day before.  
“I may deserve that after my—chilly reception yesterday. _Don’t you dare!_ ” Draco slapped Harry’s hand away from the sugar and creamers on the counter. “That is a masterpiece, the finest coffee in London. Don’t you dare muck it up until you at least taste it.”

Harry pulled his hand away slowly. “Can I try it, then?”

Draco laughed and nodded his approval. He pointed them toward the table. Harry sat down next to Al and brought the mug to his nose. “It smells ok. Like, not poisoned.”

Draco huffed but Potter just laughed. “Maybe I’ll just dunk my biscuit in—”

Al giggled as Draco gasped. “Potter, you are an epicurean nightmare. At least your son hasn’t inherited your ghastly taste.”

Al had nibbled at his biscuit, breaking off small pieces and savoring them, which Draco clearly explained was the proper way to eat a treat. “You have to eat it slowly. Appreciate each bite. _Experience_ each bite.”

Draco spoke with Al as he watched Potter from the corner of his eye making faces at the black coffee, 

“Is your father always so difficult?” Draco asked, but Al only pretended to lock his lips. “I think my son would say the same thing about me.”

“How old is he?” Al asked, wiping the crumbs from his lap onto the floor. Draco cringed but not openly. 

“He’s 7. He lives with his mum part time.”

“I'm 7, too!” Al bounced in his chair. “Can I meet him? We can be friends!”

“I think he would like that. He has a lot of books but not a lot of friends. I'll talk to your Dad about it.”

“Are you sad he doesn't live with you all the time? My mum--”

“Albus, I'm sure Mr. Draco has to get back to work.” Harry cut his son short and Al nodded. “You were absolutely right about the coffee. It didn't need anything at all.” Harry brought his mug and the two plates to the counter. He reached for his wallet, but Draco waved him off. 

“Hearing you say _you were absolutely right_ is all the payment I need.” Draco smirked as Al laughed again. He crouched down, eye to eye with Al. “I like you. You know how to laugh.”

Harry watched them, his face heavy with something Draco couldn't read. “Come on, bud. We promised your mum we’d do the shopping for tonight’s dinner.”

Al folded up his napkin, laid it on the table, and pushed his chair in. “Goodbye, Mr. Draco. It was nice to meet you. I hope we can come back again.”

“Me, too.” Draco ruffled Albus’ hair, surprised that he actually meant it. 

Harry scooped Al up and hoisted him up to Harry’s shoulders. They walked away, discussing something Draco couldn't hear. 

As they turned toward the doorway, Al looked back and waved. Then they were gone, joining the shoppers on the street. 

“Oh for ffff-udge’s sake!” Draco caught himself before he blurted out a curse. “My biscuits are burning!”


	5. Leopards Don't Change Their Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius is home and Draco is a damn good Dad.
> 
> loosely written around this adorable pic: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can tell y'all already this will likely be fewer than 25 chapters because life is a little nuts here. BUT. this is the only fic in the fire right now. I missed yesterday because I had to finish up my Check Please fic, [Silent Night, Holy Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8774281). It was a gift exchange fic. 
> 
> But this is it and I'm getting ready to start chapter 6!

_What’s twelve hours late between friends?_ Draco groused as Scorpius tumbled through the Floo. At the unholy hour of 7 am. On the one day he allowed himself to sleep in. Draco willed himself not to snark that out loud. 

“Hey, buddy! Welcome home.” He grabbed Scorpius and twirled him around the small lounge. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Scorpius squirmed out of Draco’s arms. “Me too. We were busy all weekend.” That was all he said before he left Draco to search for their cat. 

Astoria stepped through the Floo, brushing invisible soot from her tailored robes. “Thank you for agreeing to allow Scorpius to stay an extra night.”

Draco bit back his frustration. “I agreed because your wedding is this weekend. Also, when you Fire Call at 10 at night, I don’t really have a choice.”

“We had a hectic weekend with the rehearsal and all of the family who are in town already.” Astoria in _All-Business_ mode. Draco’s least favorite version of his ex-wife. At least he didn’t have to deal with any awkward entanglements. She already had her fingers in the Floo powder bowl. “I’ll need him back Friday noon.”

“He’s not a toy or a piece of clothing, Astoria. You can’t just yank him away like he doesn’t matter.” Draco shoved his fists deep into his trouser pockets to hide his rising anger, but if he didn’t unclench them soon, he’d likely draw blood from how deep his nails were gouging his skin.

He thought maybe Astoria’d heard him, because she hesitated before stepping into the flames. But then she was gone.

He sighed. _Leopards don’t change their stripes._

_No wait. That’s not right. Is it?_

_Merlin’s pants, I’ve said it wrong on purpose so many times that I can’t remember the right way._

Scorpius was in his room, petting their pale orange tabby with one hand and holding a book with the other. Draco sat next to them on the bed, and neither the cat nor Scorpius looked up. 

“Did you have a good weekend with your mum?”

“I miss Mary Berry when I’m there.” Scorpius scratched lightly between the cat’s ears. “I think she gets lonely.”

Draco listened to what he said and tried to hear what he didn’t say. “How are you getting along with Ted’s daughter?”

Scorpius didn’t put the book down, but Draco could tell he’d stopped reading. “She’s okay. She doesn’t know much.”

Draco laughed. “Honey, she’s only four. But you’ll be her big brother now. You get to teach her everything.”

Scorpius chewed his lip. “I guess. She’s going to live with Mother and DadTed all the time.”

Draco prayed for the wisdom to listen and not to jump in and say something fuzzy. Instead, he hmmm’d to say he was listening.

Mary Berry rose and arched her back, a monumental stretch, then leapt from the bed, most likely heading toward her food bowl.

“Yes, that’s the agreement that DadTed has with Cordelia’s mum.”

Scorpius lay his bookmark between the pages and set the book where the cat had been. “What if she likes it, Daddy?”

Draco patted his lap and Scorpius climbed in, nuzzling under his father’s chin. “What if who likes it, bud? Cordelia or Mum?”

Scorpius shrugged his shoulders, like it didn’t really matter. He stuck the tip of his thumb into his mouth and sucked it. Draco held him closer and quietly hummed the song he sang to Scorpius when he was an infant., waiting to see if his son would say anything more. 

Eventually, Draco eased the thumb out of Scorpius’ mouth. “I think _Cordelia_ will like it, because your mom is pretty terrific.” Scorpius nodded, his hair tickling Draco’s chin. 

“And I think your Mum will like it, because she loves Cordelia and DadTed.” Draco shifted Scorpius so he could look in his son’s eyes—he could have _if_ Scorpius would have looked up instead of at his thumb. “But they’re not _more_ important than you. She loves you very much.”

“I guess.” Scorpius shrugged again.

Draco slid Scorpius to the bed and stood up. “Come with me.” He reached out his hand and wiggled his fingers until Scorpius slipped his hand into Draco’s.

Draco led him to the lounge. “Let’s Fire-Call your mum. I think she can clear this up pretty quickly.”

His stomach tightened as he pinched the Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace. Merlin, he hoped that Astoria could read the situation, would know what Scorpius needed to hear from her.

Draco stuck his head into the flames and called for Astoria. “Mummy? I have someone here who needs to talk to you. Can you bring your head in?” 

Draco backed out and Astoria’s face filled the flames. “Hello, handsome,” she said to Scorpius. “What’s up?”

_Again with the shoulders,_ Draco thought as he watched Scorpius. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” She tried again.

“Mummy, I’ve only been home for a half-hour.” Scorpius giggled as he rolled his eyes.

“Can I help it if I miss you a tonne when you’re not here?”

“Really?” Scorpius’ voice sounded tiny to Draco, and he wanted to scoop his son up and croon _I love you, you are a gift, a blessing_ until he believed it. 

“Duh.”

Draco coughed to cover his shock over Astoria’s colloquialism. “Don’t mind me. Frog in my throat.” No one paid him any attention so he backed out of the room to make his Sure-Fire, Guaranteed Smile Hot Cocoa with the patented Silly Mugs.

When Draco checked on Scorpius, he was sitting crossed legged in front of the fireplace, talking intently with his mum. His smile was wide and genuine in a way that Draco hadn’t seen in some time. He’d somehow missed how withdrawn Scorpius had become, attributing it to being shy, or tired, or any number of things. 

Tomorrow at work, he’d search for a book on children of divorced parents. But today would be Scorpius and him. With only 2 weeks until Christmas, Draco was sure they could find something fun to do together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TYSM for the love and comments. I know you know how much they mean to me, but they REALLY do!


	6. In Your Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco takes Scorpius skating at Somerset House.
> 
> You'd _think_ that with a summary like that, Somerset House would be the prompt, but no. You'd be wrong. Today's prompt is very loosely based on this:  _if_ this snowy road were in the heart of London.

Scorpius licked the inside of his upside down Santa mug clean, and Draco snerked at how incredibly dirty that image was--but he immediately shut that thought down because Dad mode. 

Still, he and Pansy would laugh about it the next day; he _knew_ that’s what she'd intended when she gave them to him last year.

Scorpius put his mug down with a thunk and this time, Draco did laugh at the cocoa mustache. He pointed to the napkin and then Scorpius’ face, but Scorpius jumped off the chair and ran to the loo to check the mirror.

“Daddy! I have a mustache. I’m a grown up now!”

Draco sighed as he put the mugs in the sink. _It’s not nearly as much fun as you think it will be, bud,_ he thought. “Well, sir, if you don’t have a big date this afternoon, would you like to go ice skating?”

Scorpius returned to the kitchen at full speed. “Heck, yeah!”

He wrestled Scorpius into the wool socks and flannel-lined jeans, the turtleneck shirt and a jumper. Located two hats, four gloves, and one scarf in the closet where it belonged and one under Mary Berry’s bed (where it didn’t belong).

With their skates tucked safely in a gear bag, Draco took Scorpius’ hand. “Wizard or Muggle transport?”

“Duhhhh,” Scorpius grinned and Draco knew where Astoria had picked up that delightful bit of colloquial language. 

“The tube it is!” 

Unlike Pansy, Draco enjoyed travelling by tube. He studied Muggle clothing trends, their hair, their language. The gulf between the Muggle and Wizard world was narrower than it had ever been, but he still didn’t understand the nuances of their behavior. That’s why he liked taking the underground to work unless he absolutely had to use the Floo.

Their 30 minutes from Islington to the stop for Somerset House was bright and loud, with a ragtag band of carolers singing more off key than on, but in good spirits. Scorpius stared and listened, but didn’t join in with the few songs he knew. Maybe if they’d been Wizard songs, like Disapparating Around the Christmas Tree or I’ll Floo Home for Christmas, he might have joined in. But he’d been withdrawn lately, and Draco doubted one comforting Fire Call from Astoria would change anything.

As they walked to Somerset House down the snowy road, they dodged people who walked too slowly, their bags at sharp angles that poked and stung. 

“Maybe I was wrong,” Scorpius attempted to say as he stuck his tongue out to catch snowflakes and just missed an oncoming shopper’s tote, at the perfect height to leave a 7 year old with a black eye.

Draco laughed, thankful that Scorpius had been lucky not to be injured. The snow left him feeling happy and optimistic. The coming year would be a good one. Business was going well, and he thought he could afford to hire an assistant this year, which would give him time to try some of those Wizard dating sites that Pansy kept pushing. 

As they stood in line to pay the entry fee, Draco thought about the miracle of having time to date. That would be really—good. Good to spend time with another adult. _Adult_ time. He shoved away the image of dark curls spread across his stark white pillowcases. Glasses on the night stand. 

Caught up in the thoughts he was trying to ignore, Draco barely noted the line had moved. When the clerk asked for their tickets, Draco fumbled with his gloves and sleeves, trying to pull his phone from his back pocket. He scanned the digital tickets and walked with Scorpius to the rink, thinking too much about whether he’d like to sleep with a cuddler, if in fact, his partner were to be a cuddler. Arms wrapped around him, knees pressed behind his. Warm breath on his neck and shoulders. Lips brushed against his neck. A whisper in his ear.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

Draco nodded, caught up in his imagination. The voice was so familiar from his Hogwarts’ fantasies. He would be incredibly lucky to have Harry in his bed. 

“Daddy?” Scorpius tugged on Draco’s coat, and Draco shook off his reverie.

“This must be your boy. He’s very handsome, like his father.”

Potter wasn’t in his dream. 

He was right there, on skates at Somerset Hall. 

Waiting to be introduced to Scorpius.


	7. On Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco takes Scorpius ice skating. You never know who you'll meet.  
> For this prompt: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On my way to a Penguins/ Lightning game in Tampa. This was supp to go up yesterday and I didn't want to wait.

How?

Here?

_Of all the skating rinks in all the towns in all the world, he’s at mine._

Draco knew he was staring at Potter, crouched down to talk to Scorpius. The snowflakes falling onto the curls that he’d just been imagining on his pillow.

He needed to say something. Soon. Because the silence stretched out awkwardly. Instead, he sat Scorpius on the closest bench and began the process of switching from boots to skates.

“This is my son, Albus. He’s 7.” With a smile, Harry nudged Al toward Scorpius.

Because he couldn’t get up (which manners would dictate he should), Scorpius extended his woolen hand toward Al, who had no idea what to do. He waved and mumbled a _hi_.

Draco tied his son’s skates and whispered that it was okay to stand now. Then he cleared his throat and jumped into the conversation. “Scorpius, this is my friend Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter, this is Scorpius.”

Harry extended his hand. “My friends call me Mr. Harry.” He looked up at Draco and smiled.

And Draco thought Harry winked at him, as if Draco wouldn’t remember that he’d said those words to Al the day before.

Scorpius shook Harry’s hand and said formally, “My friends call me Scorpius.”

Draco winced in embarrassment, but Harry didn’t crack a smile and kept his voice serious. “Then, I’ll call you Scorpius, if that’s ok.”

_Please just say yes,_ Draco prayed. He understood that his son was different from his peers, but not everyone was kind about it. Scorpius was much more intelligent but reserved, careful, afraid. He preferred to be alone rather than risk rejection, and Draco wondered how much of that was personality and how much he had learned from watching his father try to navigate social situations.

He and Astoria had divorced before Scorpius was a year old, her one condition to accepting Draco’s proposal (in addition to Lucius’ negotiated pre-marital divorce settlement). Within the next year, he and Pansy opened the bookstore, which left Draco with little free time. At first, what little he had, he needed for Scorpius’ care. Then, as his son grew older, Draco realized he simply preferred spending time with him.

He’d, y’know, dated. Dinner and drinks. Okay, if he were being honest, it was more like _appetizers and see ya._ Not one was worth more than dinner once.

Certainly nothing to fantasize over. And definitely not to introduce Scorpius to.

Scorpius mulled over Harry’s request and nodded, and Draco sighed in relief.

Harry grinned, as if this were the best news he’d had that day. “Brilliant. And this is James and Lily,” but James corrected Harry with a curt _Jamie,_. “Jamie, Lil, this is Mr. Malfoy.”

“Draco Malfoy,” he said as he finished putting on his own skates, hoping his smile would warm them.

Jamie raised an eyebrow as he looked Scorpius up and down. “Can you skate?” Jamie asked, laying the challenge out. Without answering Scorpius stepped onto the ice, skated to an opening and executed a perfect double toe loop and landed beautifully on the ice.

“Wow.” Lily whispered in awe.

“I guess that answers that.” Jamie motioned for Lily and Al to follow, and they raced toward Scorpius. The four kids took off across the ice, chasing each other and dodging other skaters.

Draco watched his son keep pace with the others, sometimes leading, sometimes following. He thought he could hear Scorpius’ giggles, and he felt lighter, breathed easier. Pansy always talked about fate, how fate put us where we needed to be and when we needed to be there. How had Potter found their store? How had they wound up at the same ice rink at the same time? Draco felt emboldened by the possibilities. Maybe, he would say something saucy to Potter. 

Potter crossed his arms and grinned. “So. Can you skate?”

Draco laughed at Potter’s question. He pushed off onto the ice and rotated into a single toe loop. He returned, his face pink from exertion. “I’m a bit rusty,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

“Look pretty good to me,” Harry said. “I’m lucky if I stay upright. But the kids love to skate and I love the kids, so—” the sentence trailed off, punctuated with a shrug.

“It seems our children have more sense than we do,” Draco said, as they skated the perimeter of the rink with the less experienced.

“Whattaya mean?”

“Their entire friendship is based on their ability to skate. Not money, or power, or social standing. Already makes them smarter than we were.”

“Maybe we've just taught them better than our parents did,” Harry said, thoughtfully and Draco nodded. “Well, anyone would have been better than my aunt and uncle.”

Draco chortled. "You _have_ met Lucius, haven't you? Tall. Too blonde to be real?Obnoxious arsehole?”

Harry glided over to the railing and held on, laughing too hard to continue.

"Speaking of obnoxious arsehole," Draco continued, because he needed to say this. "I'm sorry for the way I behaved. Not only back at Hogwarts, but even the other evening at the bookstore. It was boorish of me and too much like who I was in the past. I'm not that person anymore.”

Harry looked at him, as if he wanted to add something or do something, and Draco certain now that he wanted it to be a kiss. Nothing chaste. Naked and intimate and scorchingly hot. 

With nerve didn't know he possessed, Draco took Harry's hand in his, both cold because they’d given Jamie and Lily their own gloves. “I don't know if you were doing anything after this, but I was thinking that we could – –”

A tall, thin man barreled into Harry, whose tentative balance was shot. “Merlin’s saggy--what the hell were you thinking?” Harry yelled from his arse on the ice. 

“You have no sense of humor,” the man, no, woman said as she removed her woolen cap. Ginny Weasley. 

Ginny Weasley _Potter._

Draco felt like a fucking douche. He’d ready to ask Harry on a date with the hope of winding up the best kind of sore the next morning.

And he’d forgotten all about Harry's wife.  



	8. I'd Do Anything For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco deals with seeing Harry and his wife together, and Scorpius adores Harry's kids. It's mutual.
> 
> The pic prompt for this chapter is 
> 
> it's in there. I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for being patient you guys. Life is-- well, it's life. Somedays I Have time to write, and some days are like this 

"I have no sense of humor because that wasn't funny.” Harry attempted to stand but his blades slid and he lost his balance. His arms windmilled as he tried to find traction but smashed arse-first back onto the ice. Ginny helped Harry stand, lobbing seemingly good-natured teasing at him for his lack of skating skill. 

Draco backed away and watched the exchange, feeling his blood pressure rising. Yes, he was absolutely mortified that he’d almost invited a married man on a date. But this was something else. Weasley was incredibly rude. Childish. To treat her husband with such incredible disrespect especially in public. _That is no way to behave toward someone you love._

As if on cue, Ginny planted her hands on her hips and frowned at Harry. “Why aren’t you with the kids.”

“Jesus, Gin. Ease up.” Harry risked taking one hand off the handrail to scrub his face. “The kids are together, and they’re fine. They can’t go far.”

Draco gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain silent. Merlin forbid he started. He might not stop. He backed away further, unsure whether to leave, but Harry caught his eye. Draco thought maybe Harry, smiling shyly and rolling his eyes, was asking him to stay. 

Ginny slid closer to Harry and whispered. Draco heard the anger behind her words. “It _is_ a big deal, Harry. Just because this is a Muggle rink doesn’t mean there aren’t Wizards, and you know the kids are at risk of kidnapping.”

Draco barked out a laugh, which was the first time Ginny realized Harry might have been talking to someone. She turned and openly sneered at Draco. “Why don’t you shut it, Malfoy? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Draco intoned don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything and curled his lips between his teeth and ground down as a further reminder. 

Harry pulled her away from Draco. “You’re right. He doesn’t. Don’t jump down his throat.”

Ginny ripped her elbow from Harry’s grasp and laughed harshly. “So we’re back to this.” She skated away and said, “I’m going to find our kids.” She didn’t bother saying it to them, just called it out. The other skaters stared and gave them a wide berth, recognizing a spat. 

Harry watched her go.

Draco watched Harry, whose shoulders sank as he sighed. To Draco, Harry looked like a man who’d had this fight too many times before. He seemed tired now, like Ginny had taken all of his enthusiasm, all of his emotions with him.  
Harry turned to Draco and began to apologize and Draco wondered how many times each day Harry apologized for her. 

Draco held up his hand to stop Harry. “You don’t owe me any explanation or apology. She was right. I have no idea.”

“Are you busy tonight?” Harry asked, reaching out for Draco’s hand. “This is more complicated than I can explain here.”

Before Draco could answer, the four kids skated up and stopped, peeling the ice and snowing ice on Harry and Draco’s legs. “Daddy, look what Jamie taught me to do!” Scorpius crowed, skating back around to snow them again.

Draco’s anger drained away. Scorpius, who’d been solemn and silent earlier, was red faced from exertion; he was laughing with Harry’s kids, and Draco saw Scorpius’ joy in his eyes, his smile, even the way he stood, confident but loose. Not ramrod straight and closed like he often was. Draco brushed the ice from his ankles and play-growled.

“We were playing keep away, but some lady said we had to come back here.” Scorpius looked around, presumably for the lady.

“That’s no lady,” Albus added. “That’s my mom.”

Harry snickered, and Draco literally bit his tongue as Ginny skated to them. 

“Thank you for returning my son,” Draco nodded to Ginny, determined to be civilized. “Scorpius, this is Mrs. Potter. Mrs. Potter, this is my son Scorpius Malfoy.” He nudged Scorpius, who extended his hand toward Ginny. 

Ginny held Scorpius’ hand and scooted down to be closer to his height. “I’m sorry we had to cut this short today. It’s a long, silly story. I know Al had a great time.” Ginny looked at Al, who was ruddy-faced and grinning just like Scorpius. 

Ginny stood and faced Draco. She took a moment and said, “I’m sorry if I offended you before. Maybe we can do this again?”

She sounded conciliatory and she may have been, Draco conceded. But he’d had too much experience with Wizards who wouldn’t allow the past to die, wouldn’t allow people to change. 

“That would be lovely.” Draco wrapped his arm around Scorpius’ shoulder. “We should be going. It’s been a long day.” 

The group of them moved toward benches to exchange skates for boots. Draco removed his bag from his pocket and with a surreptitious movement, returned the hold-all to its original size. As they removed their skates, the kids laughed and chatted, making plans for the next time. 

Harry sat next to Draco and leaned over to unlace his skates. “You didn’t answer my question before.”

Draco weighed his words. “I can see that things are complicated.” He carefully slid the blade guards on his skates and then stuffed them into the gear bag. “I honestly just don’t know, Harry.” Without finishing his thought, he took Scorpius’ hand and began to walk away.

Albus ran up to Draco and tapped his side. “Mr. Draco, can we do this again?”

Draco looked at Scorpius, whose hands were clasped palms together. He couldn’t remember the last time Scorpius had cared enough about something to beg. “I’m sure we can, Al. But not next weekend. Scorpius’ mum is getting married, and he’ll be in France.”

Ginny and Harry had walked up behind Al. Harry twined his bare fingers with Al’s that were wool-covered. Draco thought that was a sweet gesture; so many fathers would think holding hands with their sons “wasn’t masculine,” but Draco knew too well how a child craved love and touch from parents. 

And, if the rumors about Harry’s upbringing were true, he also knew the importance of being held and loved and adored. 

“You’re divorced?” Ginny asked, and Draco thought her voice sounded a bit less like it would eat through bone.

Scorpius answered before Draco could. “Yes, Mum moved to Paris when I was little. Daddy says they’re better as friends.”

Draco cringed. It sounded like a sappy greeting card: _Congratulations on your impending divorce! You’ll be better friends than spouses._

But Ginny didn’t laugh as Draco thought she would. She nodded in response, as if Scorpius had said something profound. She pressed her hand to Scorpius’ head for a moment. “We’ll work something out, mate.”

With a final good-bye, Scorpius and Draco headed toward the exit to Somerset House. The flurries had begun again in earnest, and Draco watched the snow gather in the pompom on Scorpius’ hat and listened to him chatter animatedly about Al and Jamie and Lily.

Ever since Astoria had told them she and DadTed were getting married, Scorpius had been withdrawn and anxious, unwilling to leave Draco. Today he’d laughed and played in a way he hadn’t in almost a year. 

And for that, he was grateful to Harry, even if clearly they would never be anything more to each other. 

Big Ben chimed the quarter hour as they walked to the tube station. Draco scooped Scorpius up and said, “I have an idea. Let’s Wizard home and put on our pyjamas, and watch telly, and eat junk food for dinner.”

Scorpius cheered loud enough that people turned and smiled. “I love you so much, Scorpius,” Draco said, hugging him fiercely. He would do anything for Scorpius to understand that he was cherished, that he was and is a gift. That if he never did one more thing in his life, he was absolutely enough. 

And if being friends with Harry’s children made Scorpius happy, then he would make sure that they had as many chances to play together as they could. Even if being around married Harry made Draco’s heart ache for what he couldn’t have. 

Scorpius was worth that and so much more.


	9. Joy To The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After almost embarrassing himself by asking out a married man, Draco's glad to get back to work on Monday. But y'know, even Harry Potter needs to eat.
> 
> Prompt for this chapter: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was shorter than you deserve but chapter 10 is going up right after this one.

By the time _Babbitty Rabbitty_ opened at 9 Monday morning, Draco needed a nap. 

He’d slept like shite, dreaming of Hogwarts and Weasleys and being an arsehole. Scorpius had been difficult at breakfast, talking about Harry’s kids instead of eating; to be fair, Scorpius had been fine. Draco had been difficult, exhausted and cranky. When Draco had sat down to drink his first cup of coffee, Scorpius grinned at him. 

“Guess what?” Scorpius had asked. 

His smile alone had made Draco feel better. Or maybe it was the extra-strong coffee. “What?”

“Chicken butt!” Scorpius had squealed with laughter, and Draco had no choice. He’d joined in and laughed harder each time his son retold the joke.

And he knew—he _knew_ \--that “Guess what? Chicken butt!” would singsong in his brain all day, the most vile of all earworms. But to hear Scorpius so happy. It would be worth it.

Unless Draco said it to a customer. _That_ would be very very not good.

With a few minutes until the store opened, Draco swiped one of the still-warm chocolate chocolate-chunk cookies from the display case and poured a coffee. Today he needed the Dirigible Plum help to believe he could do anything, but at least the caffeine/sugar hit would mostly get him through until lunch. Then he’d grab a PB&J and start baking for the afternoon. 

_Oh, that blueberry all fruit on thumbprint cookies. Almond in the cookies and the blueberries…There’s tomorrow’s Cookie of the Day sorted…_

The tap tap of Pansy’s heels on the hardwood floor drew Draco from his baking reverie. “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step,” Pansy called out. 

Draco took a deep breath and nodded. He cleared away the cookie crumbs and his empty coffee mug and plugged in the red and green _JOY_ sign that hung above his coffee makers. “Let’s do this thing!”

He heard the click of the door’s lock and the customers streamed in. Some wandered the aisles browsing the titles. He heard someone singing along with the piped in Christmas carols. For a moment, he wondered if Harry would come by, but he dismissed that as customers queued for the still-warm cookie of the day.

Draco poured his first “light and sweet, to go,” and after that all he saw were blurs and money. Coffee, tea, cookies, the occasional pastry. Some on mismatched china that he delivered to the customers who sat in the comfortable, overstuffed chairs to enjoy the warmth of the store, but most into glassine bags and durable paper cups for a trek to somewhere. 

He’d filled and emptied the display case more times than he could remember, and finally, when the line was gone, he took a moment to pour a cup of coffee and run hot water in the sink to was the few pieces of china he wouldn’t put into the dishwasher. He rolled his neck, hoping to stretch away the tension that had settled early on. 

Just as he thrust his hands into the warm, soapy water, a customer cleared his throat. Draco looked over his shoulder to say _be right with you_ , but the words died in his throat.

Harry. 

He stood at the counter, smiling hesitantly as if Draco might not want him there. 

And Draco ~~didn’t.~~ ~~Did.~~ Merlin’s beard, he didn’t even know what he wanted. “What can I get for you today?” he asked to avoid answering his own question. Draco wiped his sudsy hands on his apron.

“Five minutes of your time. Please.” Harry rested his hand on Draco’s bare arm, where he’d rolled his cuffs up to avoid getting them wet. 

Draco’s skin tingled with the heat from Harry’s hand. Maybe it was his magic recognizing another magical signature, but his heart beat faster and he wished it were something more intimate, more meaningful.

Draco nodded; it seemed easier than fighting. He slid his arm out from under Harry’s hand and reached for the tent sign that announced **Closed from 1-2 for lunch.** He grabbed the freshest pot of coffee and headed to the closed door next to the café. “Follow me,” Draco said, not waiting to see if Harry would.


	10. That Was Just Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Harry shows up at the bakery, Draco grudgingly invites him to lunch. Or to be lunch. 
> 
> Based on this pic 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. this was NOT supposed to happen to like, chapter 24 O.o

The door opened into a narrow passage with only a set of wooden steps leading up. Draco heard the door close and the creak of the steps behind him as Harry followed.

“I have a furnished room up here,” Draco explained as he withdrew his wand from his boot and unlocked the door. “Some nights, if Scorpius is with Astoria, I’ll stay here and bake for the next day. If I crash, there’s a cot.”

He held the door open for Harry, who walked into the bare room and looked around, his eyes settling on the rumpled bed in the corner. Draco immediately pointed his wand at the fireplace, and in seconds a hearty fire warmed the room. “Usually I have the ovens going, or I’m overheated from working.”

Draco watched as Harry held his hands toward the flames, heating the palms then the backs. The fool had come out without a coat, just his ridiculous sweatshirt with two ornaments and the word _Balls_ written large across the front. The firelight cast a golden halo around Harry, and Draco imagined him warm and cozy, holding Draco until they were overheated and—

“What did you need?” Draco asked curtly. He opened the kitchen cabinets, pulling out dishes and utensils. Rummaged through the refrigerator. He kept his back to Harry because it did no good to think about someone else’s husband overheated and naked—

Harry didn’t answer immediately, and Draco wouldn’t push him. He continued making lunch, spreading the peanut butter and jam, cutting the sandwiches and waiting for Harry to speak. The only noise Draco heard was small clinks as metal hit the Formica-topped table.

He grabbed the two plates (that had been in the cupboards when they bought the building), two empty glasses, and the carton of milk, balancing them carefully on the short walk to the table. He slid a plate to Harry and filled a glass with the cold milk and put that in front of him, also.

Harry looked at the plate and back up at Draco. “You cut the crust off my sandwich,” he said softly as his smile slowly grew. “You’re—something else.”

Draco didn’t look up from pouring his milk. He knew he was blushing; he felt the heat rise up his neck. That didn’t mean he wanted Harry to see the pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“For six years I watched you cut the crust off your sandwich.” Draco sat down and took a bite of his PB & J. At least then he’d have a reason not to talk.

Harry picked up one of the peanut butter quarters on his plate and grinned. “I always tell my kids that, when someone cuts your sandwich into 4 triangles, it means they love you.”

Draco choked on his food and tried to wash it down with milk. “I’m sorry,” he coughed out. “I’m used to doing it for Scorpius—”

“I don’t mind at all.”

They were quiet as they ate, and Draco promised himself that he wouldn’t ask Harry again why he was there. He noticed that Harry’s wedding band was lying on the table; maybe that was what he’d heard earlier.

Harry finished his sandwich and milk and wiped away his white mustache, “Yeah. So. Um.” He picked at the paper napkin, tearing bits away. “You started to ask me something yesterday. What did you want to ask?”

Draco scrambled for an answer, because the truth was not it. “I don’t know. I, uh, forget.” _Smooth._

Harry looked up from his napkin shreds, his eyes on Draco, who squirmed under the intensity. “Please don’t. Don’t lie.”

Harry reached across the table and took Draco’s hand in his. The thrum of _something_ chased up Draco’s arm to his shoulders, around his body to his chest and hips and down. It might have been magic, but he didn’t want it to be and he shivered from the bold truth of it.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out for a drink. A coffee or something.” Draco willed his voice not to tremble with nerves or the embarrassment he felt nipping at him.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Because I won’t become involved with someone who’s married,” Draco said, his voice short but sure. “I’m worth more than being a piece on the side.” He tried to pull his hand away, but Harry held more firmly.

“Ginny and I, we’re complicated.” Harry took another bite of his sandwich. Blueberry jam squished out the side and clung onto the tip of Harry’s thumb. Draco watched him finish the peanut butter triangle and then pop his thumb into mouth and suck the jam from it.

_Oh, Merlin. Help me,_ Draco whimpered.

“If you don’t follow Quidditch anymore, you wouldn’t know, but Gin is the best chaser in professional Quidditch. She was the first pro to play while obviously pregnant, and it was a big deal because the team Healer created a spell to keep her safe. It was all over our news.”

Draco ate his sandwich and listened, trying to determine how this meant anything to him.

“So, yeah. She wasn’t exaggerating when she said the kids were at risk for being kidnapped. They really are. I just didn’t want you to think she was a real jerk.”

Draco laughed. Weasley had plowed into Harry, knocked him over onto the ice, hurting his ego and his arse in the process, and Harry was worrying about what Draco thought about Ginny?

Harry nodded, as if he understood why Draco laughed. But the thing was, they had history. All of them together. Maybe Harry _did_ understand. 

“Me and Ginny--we’re married, but not really.”

Draco huffed in frustration and pushed away from the table. He snatched his plate and glass from the table and dropped them into the sink with too much force. He grabbed his wand and repaired them, feeling like an immature arse. Since he had the wand out, he brought Harry’s dishes to the sink and charmed the sponge to wash them for him. 

He braced his forearms against the sink and watched the dishes, but he focused inward on the changes he'd made. Who he'd become. What his worth was. 

“I guess I should try again,” Harry said, his chin resting on Draco’s shoulder. 

He should pull away. He should. 

Instead, Draco rested his head against Harry’s cheek, leaning into his touch. 

“We aren't divorced because it's easier for Ginny to handle aggressive fans if they know she's married. But we’re not married in the ways that matter.” Harry stepped back enough that he could slowly turn Draco until they were face to face. 

“We share a house. We share the kids. But we don't share a bed and haven't since Lily was conceived.”

Draco could barely breathe, afraid he was reading between the lines but taking away the wrong message. He focused on his hands, his fingers clasped so tightly together that his knuckles were white. 

“I’ve always told Ginny the truth. That the situation is okay for now, but if I meet someone who’s important to me, I’m not willing to stay married.”

Harry tucked his fingers under Draco’s chin and gently lifted until Draco could look into Harry's eyes. 

For Draco, everything faded away except the two of them. There was no Christmas rush, no store, no cookies to be baked, or dishes to be washed. No ex-wives or children. He focused on Harry’s dark lashes against his pale cheeks and not on the sliver of space between their lips, the chasm that separated him from Harry. He wanted to stare into Harry’s eyes, slide his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, and pull him into a soft, tender, crushing, searing kiss.

But this was Harry’s move, because he was still the one with the (pretend or not) wife and relationship, and Draco wouldn’t allow himself into a mess like that. He held onto that single thought _Harry’s choice_ as Harry brushed the pad of his thumb across Draco’s cheek. As he closed the chasm, the sliver of space between them. 

_Harry’s choice._

As Harry kissed him, soft and tender. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Until it was crushing, searing, and Draco was drowning and that was just fine.


	11. Don't Bring Us Some Figgy Pudding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco invites Harry to dinner, but there's a late change in plans
> 
> Loosely based on this image: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously hope y'all aren't married to the idea of a chapter being about plum pudding because, well, this one isn't.

“Come to dinner tonight,” Draco asked, breathless from kissing Harry, from _knowing_ after 17 years of wondering and wanting.

_Come **be** dinner tonight,_ his brain supplied helpfully, and Draco giggled until Harry kissed him again. And again.

“I’ll make a plum pudding.” Draco stumbled through the words as Harry pressed his nose to Draco’s jaw, kissing his way to his ear. If Harry found the spot that made Draco’s knees buckle, it would be over. No afternoon shift. He’d never let Harry leave this flat. “We can set it aflame…”

Harry hummed as he nipped the soft skin under Draco’s ear. He mumbled something about _aflame_ and Draco giggled again.

The preset alarm rang, reminding Draco he had a business to run. “Damn. I’ve got to go,” he said, fumbling in his pocket for his phone.

“Easier to find it if you open your eyes,” Harry teased, dropping a kiss on the corner of Draco’s mouth.

“If I open my eyes, I’ll see you, and realize this isn’t a dream, and I’ll never leave, and then where will I be? I’d have to rely on Pansy’s sense of charity.” Draco extracted himself from Harry’s arms before he opened his eyes.

Harry looked incredible, his lips deep red and rough from kissing Draco’s jaw, where his stubble had begun to regrow. His hair was riotous from Draco’s fingers, the curls at all angles; Draco wanted to tame them and begin again. His alarm chirped again; thank Merlin for the snooze feature.

Draco used the phone as an excuse to tear his gaze away from Harry, but when he spoke, his voice betrayed his attempt at nonchalance. “Because if I have to rely on Pansy, she’ll make me be her servant and dress me in some French maid costume and…”

Harry groaned and pressed at his cock, obvious in his trousers. “Merlin’s balls, Malfoy. You can't make me think about you and fishnets and then expect me to leave.” 

Draco realized the size rumors he’d heard at Hogwarts hadn’t been exaggerated. At all. He grinned, giddy with knowing this could be his. Would be his. 

Draco’s alarm rang with the last reminder that it was officially 2 pm. “I really have to go.” He leaned in, brushed his lips over Harry’s, kissed the blueberry stain at the bottom of his lip. “I’ll change the wards so you can disapparate if you like.” He changed the settings and kissed Harry goodbye, whispering, “Please come for dinner.”

“Can we not have plum pudding?” Harry asked. “I hate that stuff. Reminds me of growing up.”

“We can have anything you want,” Draco said; Harry wiggled his eyebrows in response. Draco pulled a pen from his apron pocket; he took Harry’s hand in his and wrote his address on Harry’s hand.

By the time Draco walked downstairs, he had a line waiting at the counter for him, but he'd decided to think about himself for once. "I am so sorry. I've had an unforeseen difficulty," he explained as he removed his apron. “I’ll be closed this afternoon but we’ll open at the regular time tomorrow morning.” People clucked and tsk’d and made apologetic noises, asking if he were ok. He didn’t think telling them _With luck, I’m going to be well and truly fucked_ would be a good answer. Once they’d left, he withdrew his wand, cast a time-delay cleaning charm for that night, and rushed back up the stairs to disapparate home.

He landed in his bedroom and changed into jeans and a old _Babbitty Rabbitt_ shirt from the year they opened. As he pulled the snug vest over his head, he heard tapping on one of his windows. Living mostly as a Muggle, Draco rarely had owl mail, but maybe Harry wouldn’t realize that. He followed the noise into the kitchen and opened the window for the unfamiliar owl that hopped in, held out his foot for Draco to take the message, and gladly accepted a treat. He hopped over to the perch and in moments was asleep, his head buried under his wing. 

Draco scanned the letter. _Astoria, not Harry._

_Draco we've had a change of plans. The minister needs to rehearse the wedding tonight. Please send Scorpius through the Floo to my house when he gets home from school. Timing will be tight but if he comes directly, we should be fine._

Irritation prickled the back of Draco’s neck. _It’s a school night, and he’s going to be exhausted at school tomorrow._ But, as much as he wanted to be angry, he’d catered enough wedding receptions; he knew that those getting married were buffeted by the schedules of clergy and churches and reception halls.

He’d have to change plans for dinner. Draco had intended to cook something familiar yet still impressive--bœuf à la Bourguignonne. But he’d planned on shopping when he picked up Scorpius, and the recipe would take time for the meat to tenderize. 

Maybe he should cancel, go with Scorpius and--

The realization hit him hard and left him breathless. He’d be alone with Harry tonight. 

They could have cereal for all Draco cared. He’d be alone with Harry.


	12. Who's That Knocking At My Door?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so very loosely based on this pic 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i blame you all. This fic wasn't supposed to do this til chapter 25.

Draco tried to focus on packing an overnight bag for Scorpius, but his mind kept shifting gears from _Father mode_ to—

He gulped at what the new mode was: _Lover? Boyfriend? Booty call?_ While he parsed the definitions, Draco shoved clothes into the hold-all, distracted by thoughts of him and Harry alone together. Imagining them eating at the table, possibly by candlelight, shifted to them snogging on the couch. No. On the bed, hands pushing up under heavy winter clothes. No. Naked. Sweating. Pressing against each other, up and into—

The quick beepbeepBEEP of the school bus’s horn pulled him from his fantasy, but left him breathless and hard in his trousers. He threw on the longest coat he had and ran to meet Scorpius, grateful for both the cover-up and the fantasy.

As they walked back into the house, Draco held his son’s hand and explained the change of plans. “Mummy needs you there tonight because you’re an important part of the wedding,” Draco said as he removed their coats. He smiled at the tiny holly boutonniere pinned to Scorpius’ coat. 

Scorpius nodded solemnly. “Mummy says, without a ringbearer, there wouldn’t be a wedding. Because I’m in charge of the rings.” He sounded so proud, so happy to be an important part of this marriage, and Draco relaxed a bit. His intuition, to have Scorpius talk to Astoria, had made a noticeable difference in his son’s mood. 

“She definitely chose the best man for the job,” Draco said, kissing the top of Scorpius’ head. 

“You’re coming too, right Daddy?” Scorpius asked, as he exchanged his school backpack for the overnight bag. 

Draco thought carefully about the words he would use. “No, honey. Tonight is about the future for you and your mum. And I’m not really part of that.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Scorpius pursed his lips in worry. “Are you going to be lonely here all alone?”

Draco didn’t know how to answer, because “oh, fuck no” wasn’t right. Instead he bit his lips, trying not to laugh. “I’ll be fine. Mr. Harry may stop by for a—baking lesson.”

Scorpius decided he’d rather stay home for the baking lesson, but Draco quickly shut that down. “It’s important that you’re there, hon. Now, I packed some clothes for you because I’m not sure if you're coming back here tonight. Behave for Mummy and--”

"Daddy? Is this what she told you to pack?" Scorpius had unzipped the hold-all and held up four pairs of underpants and two mismatch socks. “I need pyjamas, because Cordelia’s won’t fit me.”  
Draco hastily threw in pyjamas, uniform trousers and shirt for school and muttered a _screw it_ when he couldn’t find matching socks in Scorpius’ drawer. 

“I hear Mummy!” Scorpius yelled, dropping the hold-all and running to the lounge. “Mummy!”

Astoria stepped through the flames. “We need to go, baby. Grab your bag.” 

Scorpius ran down the hallway, passing Draco who was headed to the lounge. “You’re late,” she said to Draco. “I don’t have time for this. You knew that.”

Although Astoria didn’t stand taller than a flat 5’0, she often seemed towering to Draco, especially when she was angry, usually at him. She stood framed by the fireplace, her arms crossed tightly at her chest. 

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but she held her hand up to stop him. “I don’t want to hear it. I can tell that you were—preoccupied.” She smirked and raised an eyebrow as she stared pointedly at Draco’s crotch.

_Fuck._ He was still half hard. Draco felt himself blush and rushed to rearrange himself in his trousers, embarrassed to be called out, caught like a randy teenager.

_You know what?_ Draco thought with sudden clarity. _I don’t have to accept this behavior from her, and if I let her speak to me like I’m a child, then that’s on me. I’m a good father, but I also have the right to have a personal life._

The dynamic had to change, if not for him, then for Scorpius, so he could see how equal partners spoke to each other.

Aware of his body language, Draco held his hands at his side. An argument in front of Scorpius wouldn’t help anything. “Astoria. His bus was late. I also needed to prepare him for tonight, rather than simply shoving him through the Floo.”

Astoria thought for a moment, then nodded. “The chaos of the wedding has me on edge. I’m—sorry.” 

Draco called for Scorpius to hurry; standing up to Astoria, was something he’d dissect later, try to learn from. For now, he needed to help Scorpius focus on getting through the Floo. 

Scorpius ran into the lounge, carrying his bag with Mary Berry’s head poking out from the zipper opening. “Bye Daddy!”

“Whoa, buddy. The cat stays here.” Draco removed Mary Berry from the bag and placed her onto the floor. She wove around his ankles once before wandering from the room.   
Draco crouched down to hug Scorpius. “Behave for your Mum. Maybe next week Albus and Jamie and Lily can come over to decorate cookies, okay?” Scorpius nodded and kissed Draco’s cheek. 

With a pinch of Floo powder, Scorpius was on his way to France as Draco called, “I’ll see you tomorrow after school.”

Astoria paused with her fingers in the bowl of glittery, green powder. “Draco. I told you he’ll be there until Sunday night.”

The doorbell rang, and Draco gritted his teeth, torn between letting Harry in and ripping Astoria a new arsehole. “No, you didn’t. Our agreement was Friday night for the Saturday wedding. He can’t miss an entire week of school—”

“He’s seven, and he’s brilliant like his father. He can miss the week.” The doorbell chimed again, and Astoria looked over Draco’s shoulder, as if she were waiting to see if Draco’s mysterious visitor would step in and reveal themselves.

Draco sighed. He didn’t have it in him to argue with her right now. “Just go.”

“Please reconsider coming on Saturday,” Astoria said as she stepped into the Floo. “You’re welcome to bring a guest.”

He thought he heard her laugh as she spun away in the flames.


	13. Looking For a New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of kissing, some important talking, but mostly, shameless, heated snogging.  
> This chapter is brought to you by _two_ pic prompts:  and 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are well past the deadline of 12/25, but I'm still writing. My oldest wound up in hospital from 12/22-27, which put a dent in my concentration and time. Let's just forget the fact I was well behind by then, shall we 

“I hope it’s okay that I let myself in. Unless this isn’t Malfoy’s house. Then I’m really, really sorry.”

Draco heard the front door click closed and the tentative footsteps into the foyer. “Back here,” he called, working to keep the anger and frustration out of his voice. He stared into the green-tinged flames and counted to ten in English. And then in French. Until he could feel some of the tension leave his neck and jaw. He turned toward the doorway, waiting for Harry. 

“Hey,” Draco said, unsure of everything when Harry wound his way to the lounge. Should he hug Harry? Kiss him? Wave? No. Waving was stupid. He wasn’t the Queen, for Merlin’s sake. 

Harry waved a _hey,_ which made Draco snicker. Maybe Harry was a queen. Which made Draco laugh harder.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked, walking to the fire to warm his hands. 

“It’s entirely too difficult to explain,” Draco said, wiping his eyes. “Anyway, I intended to go to the grocery to get a few things for dinner,” and then explained what had happened. He smiled as he gestured around the lounge. “In short, I’ve invited you for dinner but I have no food, and I didn’t even clean.”

Harry laughed and took Draco’s hand into his, and the heat Draco felt had nothing to do with the fireplace. “I have three kids. We never have food, and it’s never clean.” He brought their hands up to his chest. “I’m not really worried about food—” 

Harry tucked a strand of Draco’s hair back into place, a casualty from when he was pushing Scorpius to move faster. Then with his thumb, he followed the line of Draco’s jaw. 

Draco closed his eyes and let himself _be._ He didn’t think of a dozen reason why this wasn’t a good idea or begin construction of a fortress for his heart. He gave himself permission to enjoy. When Harry’s thumb dragged along his bottom lip, Draco kissed it, may have flicked his tongue; he wasn’t sure if it he meant it to be a kiss or a suggestion of more. At that point, Draco didn’t know anything except the smell of Harry’s aftershave (vanilla and lavender), the warmth Harry radiated as he moved closer to Draco, the way Harry’s breath caught—and almost stopped—when Draco’s tongue flicked the thumb’s tip. 

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Harry said, his voice a whisper. He cupped Draco’s face in his hands. “Like, really.” 

Draco opened his eyes. Harry was right there, close enough that Draco would barely have to move to kiss him. Nip his bottom lip. Breathing the same warm air, which was so much more intimate than even a kiss. But he didn’t. He intended to say, they needed to be responsible, intelligent adults. Move slowly. Reacquaint themselves before rushing into something physical. Because _knowing someone_ was the keystone to the foundation of any solid, lasting relationship.

“Scorpius is gone until Sunday,” is what he said instead, his voice strangled and husky, and he hoped to Merlin that Harry maybe couldn’t hear how much _need_ was in his words. 

Before he could blurt out a mortified apology, make a joke about how red his face must be, before he could do anything, Harry kissed him. 

Not soft or tender. But crushing, gasping. Draco’s embarrassment melted as he felt the same need in Harry’s fingers digging into his waist, Harry’s hard cock pushing against his Muggle jeans. 

Draco nodded. _Merlin, yes,_ he thought, _I really, really want to kiss you, too._

While he could still string a few thoughts together, before he was completely, joyously lost to Harry, he broke the kiss, pressed his palms against Harry’s chest and nudged him back. 

Harry looked incredible, breathing hard, his lips rough and red from Draco’s growing beard. But Draco saw something else in Harry’s eyes (confusion, fear, sadness?) and fiercely wanted to kiss it away, never allow it to reappear, to ensure he never did anything that would hurt Harry.

He kissed Harry gently, hoping that Harry could read his feelings. “Not stopping. But before we do something stupid like get naked on the lounge floor—”

Harry grinned and reached for the bottom of Draco’s t-shirt, but Draco’s reflexes were faster. When he grasped Harry’s wrists and held them, Harry’s breathy _oh_ overwhelmed him, shook him. He fiercely wanted to ensure he did everything to hear it again. 

Draco brushed his nose along Harry’s, hoping he couldn’t hear Draco’s heart pounding. “Merlin, that sound—You’re so. fucking. hot,” Draco murmured against Harry’s lips, stopping between the words for heated kisses.

“You’re—” 

Draco cut Harry off by grabbing the hem of his maroon and gold jumper and pulling it over and off. He dropped it onto the floor and moved on to Harry’s hideously orange _Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezing_ shirt. 

Draco caressed Harry’s chest, his nails scraping gently through the sparse, dark hair. He kissed Harry’s clavicle, flicked at it, thought it would be incredibly lovely to lap at mulled wine (or better yet, New Year’s champagne) from the deep dip his collar bone created. 

He kissed the spot where Harry’s neck met his shoulder and felt Harry’s chest shudder beneath his palms. “Help me take this goddamn thing off,” Draco growled as he tried to remove his own shirt while nipping Harry’s neck.

Harry’s hands lacked coordination; he fumbled as he tried to help Draco pull his arms out, until they both acknowledged it would be faster to simply step away from each other. 

Draco’s shirt wound up atop Harry’s ( _Heh, heh, same,_ Draco thought), and Harry pulled him back in. 

“Til Sunday, huh?” Harry whispered, and Draco shivered from the way his breath tickled Draco’s ear. Harry covered Draco’s hand in his and guided it to the waistband of Harry’s jeans.

Draco nodded and the drag of their cheeks, the scratch of whiskers set his mind aflame. Imagining it against the soft skin of Harry’s inner thigh, in the cleft of Harry’s arse as he tongue-fucked him until he yelled Draco’s name, ragged and begging. Yeah. That.

Draco kissed him again, flicked his tongue against Harry’s lips, and Harry opened eagerly and deepened their kiss until neither could breathe.

“Can I blow you?” Draco asked, his heart racing. It’d been so long since he’d sucked someone, even longer since he’d let someone fuck him. He said a quick prayer that he still had some skills. Draco slid to his knees and mouthed at the bulge in Harry’s jeans. 

_Yes. That sound again,_ Draco thought when Harry whimpered. Draco unbuttoned the jeans and shimmied them over Harry’s arse and down his thighs. _Sweet fucking Merlin, the rumors had been true about the size of Harry’s cock._

Draco tongued the growing wet spot on the red briefs and looked up at Harry, who’s eyes were closed, the tip of his tongue tucked between his lips. He curled his fingers into the elastic waist band but hesitated before drawing them down. 

“Harry, I really want to do this.” Draco unhooked his fingers and stood up. “But I’m not looking to hook up. I mean, I’m not opposed to hooking up. I mean, I love a good hook up, but—” 

Fuck. He was rambling now. He sounded like an idiot, and Potter would bolt, and— 

Harry slid his hands along Draco’s jaw, his touch light as if Draco were a fragile treasure. His mouth lingered over Draco’s without yet touching. “I’m not looking for a hook up. You’re a gift, Malfoy.” Draco snickered at the thought that Harry would consider him a gift, but Harry ssssh’d him. He touched his forehead to Draco’s, his eyes closed behind his glasses. 

Draco watched Harry, the tiny wrinkles at the edge of his eyes from his smile. The way his lips parted as if he were going to say something more. Draco traced the shell of Harry’s ear with his finger, followed the line of his neck to his collarbone again, then up to Harry’s lips. 

Harry kissed the fingertip then Draco’s open palm. “I wasn’t even supposed to be anywhere near _Babbitty Rabbitty_ last week, but I missed my Underground stop. When I got off at Blackfriars, I thought I’d do some Christmas shopping.” 

Draco held his breath, afraid that if he spoke, if he breathed, Harry might stop talking. 

“I love my kids; I wouldn’t trade them for anything,” Harry said. “But my life is a mess. I hate the lies.” Harry dipped his head, as if he didn’t want Draco to read his thoughts. “I’ve been praying for something to change.” 

Draco breathed out an _oh, Harry,_ and Harry opened his eyes and smiled. “I’ve thought about you for 10 years. Wondered where you were, what you were doing. If you were safe and happy. And then there you were in a place I wasn’t even supposed to be at.” 

Harry slid his hand through Draco’s hair, cupped the back of his neck and kissed him deeply. Then he reached down, dragged his jeans up, and pulled his wand from inside his boot. 

With a quiet, trembling _Expecto Patronum_ , Harry conjured his Patronus. “Don’t expect me home tonight. I’m safe and very happy.” He sent it off to Ginny, and then grinned at Draco. 

“I’m really not looking for a hook up,” Harry agreed. “I’m looking for a new life to love.” 

Draco would have felt foolish with how hard he was grinning, but he was too busy snogging Harry all the way to the bedroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grinning while you're kissing is a thing, isn't it? right?


	14. Gone, Baby, Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gentleman never leaves another man unsatisfied. Or, y'know, porn without plot. Draco gives Harry a blowjob on their first real date. And I ain't even sorry.
> 
> yeah, so. I forgot to write the photo prompt in. LOL. This chapter is brought to you (in theory) by this photo prompt: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a shameless excuse to write porn. So I did. And A HUGE thanks to [Crowgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl), [ElizaJane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane), [Kizzywiggle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle) and Superkrispydj. They let me pop in, ask random questions, answer me without laughing, and cheer me on. Any mistakes are mine, because they are beautiful angels who are incapable of error

Draco leered.

Openly.

Or at least as enthusiastically as a man who was post world-rocking orgasm were capable of leering. He watched as Harry, who was naked and very, very hard, rolled from the bed and disappeared into the en suite loo. 

Harry could have used a cleaning spell, Draco thought, but was immediately distracted by Harry’s arse. Draco decided that Harry’s naked back, from shoulder to thigh, was worthy of a marble sculpture by one of the great masters. That it might be worth resurrecting one and proposing just that. Did he know enough magic? He might be a little rusty. How much would one cost, do you suppose? Would it be unethical to pay, say, Michelangelo the going rate in 1501, or would he have to pay him by today’s rate? Could he even afford to pay him by today’s rate? What _is_ the rate, allowing for inflation?

“Whatcha thinking about?” Harry asked, as he wiped the warm flannel over Draco’s abdomen and then dried him with the sheet corner. He walked back to the loo to drop the flannel, giving Draco another chance to watch him. 

Draco knew that phrases like “My entire world changed!” or “I’m a new me!” were drivel, best left for one of the store’s poorly written novels. But it didn’t change how he felt, and that wasn’t just the sex talking. 

Four days ago, he was a successful business owner, a good father, and a lonely man.

Tonight, he was in bed with a beautiful man who’d spent every moment learning what Draco needed. Where and how to touch him until Draco begged, repeating _please_ until his orgasm left him unable to speak or think. He was half of a heartbeat away from falling for this man. Helpless. Hopeless. Willingly.

Harry slipped beneath the sheets and rolled on his side to face Draco. “You’re pensive tonight.”

Draco felt Harry squirm against the sheets, looking for a comfortable position. Draco turned to face him, caressed Harry’s hip. “That’s a big word, Potter, for—”

“For a cretin like me?” Harry teased, but Draco didn’t laugh. He’d been an arse to Harry on Friday at the store, and truthfully, a lot longer than that, and he was mortified. Maybe the fact that Harry could joke about it meant it was ok?

“No, you idiot. For someone whose blood has left his brain.”

Draco’s finger skimmed Harry’s hipbone and leg, coming to rest on Harry’s cock. He teased Harry, slipping his finger through the slick that leaked at the tip. “Open your eyes,” he said to Harry, whose head was flung back against the pillow.

Harry propped his head on his hand and opened his eyes slowly. He watched as Draco dragged his finger through the pre-come, and when Draco brought his fingertip to his mouth, licked it gone with tiny kitten flicks of his tongue, Harry’s voice broke, ragged with want. 

Draco kissed Harry, wanting to pull that lush, raw note from him again. Wanting to know all the ways he could take Harry apart, tease him until he fell in pieces, and then put him back together. 

Harry moved his hand, wrapped it around the back of Draco’s neck to close the space between them. “Your kisses are—” he said, his lips still against Draco’s.

Draco nipped Harry’s bottom lip then kissed him hard. He flicked Harry’s tongue like he’d done to his finger, hoping Harry would realize. 

Harry realized.

“God, Draco, please—” Harry begged as he thrust against Draco’s thigh.

“Stand up. Can you do that?” Draco asked Harry between lingering kisses 

Harry didn’t ask why. He climbed out of bed and stood, waiting. 

Draco’s breath shuddered at sculpted Harry, stunning in the dusky half-light that filtered through the blinds. He saw snow, knew it would cover everything outside, but he was warm and safe inside with Harry. _Maybe not even half a heartbeat._

Draco kissed and nipped his way down Harry’s body. His shoulder. The nipple, pebbled and too ticklish for Draco to suck. The prominent hipbone. 

Each of Harry’s shredded breaths, bits of words, added to the pool of heat in Draco’s belly. He dropped to his knees and nuzzled Harry’s cock, caressed it with his lips, the tip of his nose. He desperately wanted to make this great for Harry, but the thick scent of Harry’s arousal wiped away Draco’s thoughts of a sensual, teasing blowjob. He swirled his tongue around the crown and over the leaking slit, and as Harry begged him _Please. Don’t stop,_ Draco took as much in as he could.

Harry thrust his hips then froze. “I’m sorry. I’ll—”

Draco felt his pulse rise, knew he wasn’t young enough for his cock to be hard again already, but he couldn’t deny the thickening he felt. He pulled off with a loud pop, almost obscene in the quiet of his flat, and looked up at Harry. “Don’t stop. It’s been a bit since I’ve done this, and I may gag, but yeah. Fuck my mouth.” 

Never. He’d never said that to anyone else, and definitely never on their first time. He’d had rules about sex since he became a father. Sex could wait, or he’d make do with his fist and a few toys. He was a dad first, and his own needs took a far away second place to that. That he would never introduce Scorpius to someone unless he was serious because children could only endure so much loss in their lives.

But this. If he were being truthful, he should have known this was inevitable. That Potter would come back into his life, sweep him up and away in charismatic bedlam, and he would be incapable of doing anything except holding on and praying he wouldn’t get hurt. 

Harry mewled, as if he couldn’t believe Draco. “Yeah?” 

Draco brought Harry’s palms to the top of his head and curled Harry’s fingers in Draco’s fine hair. “I won’t break. Promise.” As if to underscore his words, he took Harry’s cock back into his mouth, working him deeper.

Harry grasped Draco’s hair, held and pulled as he thrust. He fucked Draco’s mouth, lips wrapped tight with the suction; he thrust once, twice, three times before he came down Draco’s throat without warning. Draco pulled off and swallowed as Harry stroked himself through.

Draco felt the warmth splash onto his chest and chin and opened his eyes to watch Harry as he moved through his orgasm. The slight part of his lips, the flush that blotted his chest and neck, hummed tiny moans that were almost a hallelujah. 

Yeah. Not even half a heartbeat.

He was gone, baby, gone.


	15. Rise Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally gets around to cooking Harry dinner, and then they share what they've been doing w/ their lives before heading back to bed ! 
> 
> loosely based on this pic prompt 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd. I'm still chugging along. This definitely will be fewer than 23 chapters, but i'm leaving 23 up there. 
> 
> any day now I should have 3 more fics to post, that were written maybe in november for the LJ Owlfest.

Draco spooned a mound of scrambled eggs dotted with sautéed mushrooms and green peppers onto each plate and shredded some sharp cheddar to melt on top. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Harry examine the decorations in his kitchen, badges of honor from fatherhood and the life he’d created in Muggle society.

Harry. In his kitchen. Draco didn’t miss the _Babbitty Rabbitty_ shirt that Harry wore, the one Draco had shed before they’d tumbled into bed. And those flannel trousers that hung low, hugged Harry’s hipbones. Those were Draco’s.

Harry pulled a worn cookbook from atop the refrigerator. “So _you’re_ the Wizard with this book!”

Draco laughed. He placed both plates across from each other on the small dinner table and lit the three candles on the centerpiece. “Yes. Once Scorpius began spending more time with me, I realized we couldn’t really exist on take-away.”

Harry brought the book to the table and before he sat, he moved the plates so they were next to each other. Draco brought the tea tray to the table and slid into the chair to Harry’s left, pressing their knees together. Immediately he worried that he was being too forward and jerked his leg away.

Draco rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. They’d opened themselves up to each other. They’d had sex, for Merlin’s sake.

Harry took a bite of his eggs and hummed in approval; then, he laid his fork on the plate and turned to Draco. “I like you, Draco. I wasn’t lying before. I’m not looking for a hook up.” Harry leaned in and brushed his lips across Draco’s cheek. “And I know it’s fast, but I’m pretty sure we were always headed right here. And by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, if you don’t mind, I’m not doing _that_ again.”

Draco felt the tension drain from his shoulders and neck. Yeah. He found he didn’t mind at all.

Harry kissed Draco, a quick peck on the lips as if it were routine and not something extraordinary that made Draco’s heart flutter wildly. Harry turned his attention to their makeshift dinner and the cookbook.

He flipped through the book, searching for the most worn pages—beef stew, chicken noodle soup, chocolate cake—the recipes that Draco had first experimented with and that he returned to when he needed comfort. “Maybe I should keep that book for myself and get another one for Hermione.” Harry smiled and closed the cover gently, moving it out of the way of dinner. “I can cook some, but when I find a house, I’ve gotta be able to cook for the kids.”

“Cooking isn’t difficult. It’s about reading the recipe and measuring carefully, especially when you’re baking.”

Harry grimaced then chuckled. “That sounds way too much like potions class.” He pushed himself away from the table and padded to the refrigerator to search for jam for their toast.

_I want Potter here. In my clothing. In my kitchen,_ Draco realized as he watched Harry, bent over as he searched the refrigerator. He grinned foolishly, happier than he could ever remember. When Harry returned to the table, Draco twined their fingers and leaned in to kiss him.

“What’s that for?” Harry asked, smiling and still holding the jar of jam.

“For being you.” Draco pushed Harry’s glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and felt his heart skip a beat. Of all they’d done, that small gesture felt the most intimate.

“You didn’t used to think that.” Harry laughed and kissed Draco one more time before focusing on his dinner.

“We all change, Potter.” Draco sniffed in mock haughtiness. “Except you. Apparently, you still have no table manners.”

When Harry made a big show of licking jam off each finger, smacking his lips and moaning, Draco laughed and threw his napkin at Harry before settling into his own plate.

“Is that why you bake, then?” Harry asked, taking a sip of his tea. “Because it’s like potions?”

Draco placed his fork and knife across his plate, dusted the toast crumbs that littered the table into a pile and then into his hand, then onto the plate. He’d never shared this with anyone, except Pansy, but she had been woven into all of this; it was impossible for her not to know.

Harry laid his hand, palm up. Draco hesitated, then slipped his hand into it, and Harry squeezed lightly.

Draco breathed deep and steady to settle the fear and panic that he felt trying to push in each time he tried to talk about The Before time. 

“After the war, after all of the arrests and prosecutions, anyone associated with the Dark Lord moved away. The Ministry made their philosophy clear: the sins of the fathers would certainly be visited upon the children, and Wizarding society would be better off without us.

“I moved to France with my parents, who'd been in betrothal negotiations with Astoria Greengrass’ parents. We were expected to live in wedded bliss in a countryside villa and give them grandchildren yearly.” Draco laughed, sounding more bitter than he’d intended. “Astoria was the first person I’d ever told that I was gay. It wasn't fair to her to be forced to marry me, but she didn't care. We were friends all our lives, and--I have no idea what ‘allowance’ Father paid her--but our marriage gave her the opportunity to focus on her art and writing.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt Draco.

“If you’ve got kids, you’ve read her books. _Tales of a Boarding School Spider—”_

“By A. Greengrass.” Harry slapped his forehead as he shook his head. “Oh Merlin, the spider’s the World’s Nicest--”

“Scorpion. Yeah.” Draco flushed with pride for his son (and a little for his ex-wife). “It’s our bestselling children’s series at the store.”

Harry stumbled to speak. “I never—oh Merlin, the grey and green striped scarf he wears…I never—”

“We knew the marriage didn’t have to last long—just long enough for an heir. And after Scorpius was almost one, we divorced. She stayed in France, and I moved back to London and shared a flat with Pansy. We put our money into renovations and rent, so one of us needed to learn how to cook or we’d both starve.”

Draco spoke matter of factly and shrugged his shoulders, but Harry placed his hand over Draco’s and squeezed. “Your parents were wrong for forcing you to get married.”

“Yeah. They were.” Draco raised Harry’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “But Scorpius is the result, and I can’t regret any of it.”

Harry swiped his thumb at the corner of Draco’s mouth and removed a bit of melted cheese. “I get that.”

Draco shivered at the intimacy of the gesture. _I could get used to this, fast,_ he thought, and changed the subject as quickly as he could. “Anyway, I’m okay at cooking, but I love baking. The café gives me a chance to bake, but what I’d really like is to cater events.”

He was spilling his secrets tonight. The stories he never told anyone. The dreams he held close to his chest. Draco pushed his chair away from the table and gathered the empty plates. “I’ve talked enough about me. What do _you_ think of me?” he asked with a grin as he rinsed the plates at the sink. 

“I think you’re brilliant,” Harry said, carrying the teacups to the sink. “And pretty fucking hot.”

Draco felt his face flush; he never expected Harry to take his joke seriously. Instead of answering, Draco rummaged through the freezer for the tub of ice cream he’d hidden from Scorpius. He pointed out where bowls and spoons were, and Harry brought 2 of each to the table. 

“Did you become an Auror?” Draco asked, deciding they didn’t need bowls. He shoveled some Rocky Road into his mouth and handed the carton to Harry. 

Harry didn’t answer immediately; instead, he scooped up ice cream and munched it as he thought. 

Draco held back a squeak as Harry dragged the spoon out slowly from between his lips. “You really can’t do that again,” Draco said, nodding toward the spoon. 

Harry crinkled his brow, questioning what Draco meant. “Oh, Merlin, I didn’t mean--!” He seemed embarrassed but grinned lecherously, licking the spoon in the most over the top, perverted way he knew until Draco was in tears from laughing.

“Anyway,” Harry said, dropping his spoon to the table. “The Ministry came to me during Auror training. They named me their Special Counsel.”

Draco had overheard a great deal growing up at Malfoy Manor, but _Special Counsel_ was new to him. 

“I’m supposed to advise them on Muggle and Wizarding matters, offer my completely a-political advice.” Harry took the ice cream from Draco. “What I really am is a name. They attach my name to anything they want to hold extra weight. And they pay me a metric fuck tonne.”

Draco had no idea how to respond. A lot of money and no real job sounded pretty good right now. “That sounds like a sweet deal.”

“I feel like a prostitute,” Harry admitted. “I hate doing it, but the money is important. I, um—” He struggled to continue and Draco thought he looked almost embarrassed. 

Draco reached out and brushed Harry’s hair with his fingers. Harry caught his hand and kissed each tip. “So, yeah. No one knows this, but um, the money goes to this place for kids. It’s called Fawkes House. Kids with no place to go can stay there. Some are there long term because their parents died and they have no one. Some are runaways. And the LGBTQ kids know we’re a safe place for them. They can get a meal and a bed, or a shower, or food.”

Harry’s cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and Draco didn’t know how best to respond. “That’s incredible, Harry. It’s—” Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and kissed him deeply, running his fingers through Harry’s hair, up and down his back. _How. Fucking. Hot. Is he?_

“Dumbledore believed that everyone deserved a second chance. And his phoenix, Fawkes, rescued me so many times. It’s just, something I love,” Harry admitted, as if he were embarrassed. 

“It’s brilliant. _You’re_ brilliant.” Draco kissed him again, and his brain focused on Harry’s broad shoulders in the too small shirt. “Can I help—” 

Harry sat up straight, his eyes wide and bright. “No, _you’re_ brilliant. We’re having a Christmas party at Fawkes House, and I was trying to find a caterer. Would you want to? We have money to pay.”

Draco nodded, blindsided by the opportunity to showcase his baking. “Let’s talk about it later,” he said, pressing his hands under the hem of the _Babbitty Rabbitty_ shirt to Harry’s tight stomach. 

‘Can I help’ was meant to be completed by ‘take your shirt off.’ But Draco didn’t really mind. After he kissed, sucked, nipped every bit of Harry’s skin (except the ticklish nipples), they could talk specifics about the party. 

But not then. Draco put their spoons in the ice cream container and led Harry back to the bedroom.


	16. Mistletoed and Bright Eyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco invites Harry to go accompany him to Astoria's wedding, but winds up going alone. He misses Harry more than he ever thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you by  and  and finally, 
> 
> I reduced the number of chapters to 20. It may even be 19.

They lingered over Harry’s goodbye the next morning, leaning in for soft kisses that grew deeper, slipping hands under their shirts as they searched for the heat of bare skin. 

The grandfather clock, the only memento Draco’d taken from the Manor, chimed the half hour. “It’s 6:30. You really should go—” he said, stepping away from Harry. Draco pulled down the bottom of his shirt, forcing his hands to smooth any wrinkles so he wouldn’t reach for Harry again. “If you don’t leave now, there won’t be biscuits today—”

Harry nodded but didn’t step toward the fire. He caressed Draco’s cheek. “I had a great time.”

Draco grinned without embarrassment as he leaned into Harry’s touch. He’d had a great time, too—in his bedroom. In the shower. And again, that morning. “Do you mind that we moved so quickly? It was a hell of a first date.”

“Merlin, Malfoy. We had 7 years of foreplay.” Harry cupped Draco’s jaw. “When you kissed me yesterday, I knew. I won’t assume you feel the same way, but I’m going to tell Gin that it’s time. One of us needs to find a new home.” Harry brushed his lips over Draco’s. Slow, soft, like a reminder of what was and a promise of what will be. 

Draco nodded, dazed not by what Harry said but that he’d said what Draco had been trying not to say. The voice in his head (that sounded annoyingly like Lucius) repeated that it was _too soon, too fast, too much, you can’t know, this is foolish,_ even though he’d felt lighter, happier, more carefree than he had in ten years.

“Come with me this weekend,” Draco whispered, afraid he might break the spell. “Astoria’s getting married. French countryside. Lots of rooms. Come. Please.”

Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s and pressed his palm over Draco’s heart. “I can’t. I’m traveling for the Ministry. I’ll be in Washington, D.C. in meetings from tomorrow until late Saturday. I’m sorry.”

Harry threw Floo Powder into the fireplace. Before he stepped in, he kissed Draco. “I’ll see you Sunday.” He stepped into the flames and was gone.

~*~

By the time Pansy Floo’d into the bookstore at 8:45, Draco had baked several dozen mince pies and too many sugar biscuits to count. He may have used magic to make the decorating move faster, but he knew for a fact that Pansy used magic to dust the books. As he baked, Draco sang along to the Christmas carols on the stores piped in music. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Pansy teased. As she poured herself her first cup of coffee, she gave him the once over. “I haven’t heard you sing in a long time.”

“Just having a good day. The oven is behaving. Scorpius is with Astoria, who’s getting married this weekend.” Draco handed Pansy a biscuit, a witch’s hat decorated in edible gold that he’d made for her. “And I got a great night sleep.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow and smirked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it wasn’t a great night’s sleep you got.”

 _Too damn perceptive,_ Draco thought and added that to the list of **Things I Hate About Pansy Parkinson.**

Pansy left her empty coffee mug on the counter for Draco to take care of. “As Marcus Aurelius said, _Begin the morning by saying to thyself, I shall meet with the busybody, the ungrateful, arrogant, deceitful, envious, unsocial._ Twelve days til Christmas. You ready?”

Draco took a deep breath and said, “Merry Christmas to us!”

For the rest of the day, Draco brewed coffee, baked biscuits, and smiled. He ignored each time Pansy tried to pry information from him. He and Harry were too new. Private. And until Harry spoke to Ginny, the news wasn’t his to tell. 

The week passed in a blur of customers and questions. At night Draco baked and searched out new recipes. He dragged himself to bed too late for someone who needed to be awake and functioning by 5am. When he dropped into bed, he pulled the extra pillow in against his chest and fell asleep with the scent of Harry’s shampoo and the memory of them. Together.

The first night, he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

By Friday night, he knew he never wanted to do it again. 

He missed Harry, missed him fiercely, which was ridiculous. For 10 years Harry Potter was nothing more than a fleeting thought, a line in the _Daily Prophet_ that he read at his mother’s, a late-night image passing through a fantasy as he satisfied a long-postponed itch. 

But one wrong underground stop, and Potter walked back into his life. That stupid crooked smile and those green eyes, and Draco was back in their first year of Hogwarts, his stomach tumbling in ways he didn’t understand and his brain not helping by supplying constant, explicit images. 

Maybe it’s a good thing Harry didn’t come to the wedding. Draco’d probably do something stupid like propose. In front of everyone. 

He punched the pillow, begged his brain to stop with the PowerPoint presentation, and finally fell asleep.  
~*~

“Daddy! You came!” Scorpius crashed into Draco, hugging him tightly. “I missed you so much!”

Draco scooped him up and buried his face in the crook of his son’s neck. “Missed you, too.”

Scorpius wriggled out of Draco’s arms and then put his hands on his hips, every inch Astoria when she was irritated. “Where’s Mr. Harry?”

Draco choked on air, made worse as he heard Astoria’s laughter. “Yes, Daddy. Where _is_ Mr. Harry? I’d offered for you to bring a date,” Astoria said, trying to keep her face straight.

Lovely. Scorpius had talked about the innocent meetings, and she’d figured it out. She and Pansy. Too damn perceptive. Why couldn’t he still have dim friends like Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco ignored Astoria and crouched down to talk to his son. “Mr. Harry is in the US on business. I’m sure he’ll be sorry he missed you looking so handsome.” Draco straightened Scorpius’ burgundy tie and then ruffled his hair. 

“Can we use your phone and take some pictures for him?” Scorpius asked with a frown, trying to smooth his hair but lacking coordination.

“Mr. Harry is a Wizard, baby.” With her fingers, Astoria combed his hair into place. “We can give him a regular photograph. I’ll make sure there’s one of you and Daddy. Now, go find Cordelia.”

Scorpius ran from the room, the slick soles of his new shoes skidding on the wood as he rounded the corner.

Astoria drew her dressing gown closer and remained silent, but her arched eyebrow said enough.

“Shut it, Astoria.” Draco pulled at his tie, which felt tight around his Adam’s Apple.

“I’m not saying anything, love.” Astoria pressed her hand to Draco’s cheek and held his gaze. “You deserve to be happy. Don’t convince yourself otherwise.”

Draco heard what she didn’t say: _your parents were wrong, it’s ok if you’re angry, take this chance like I did with Ted._ He was overwhelmed by her kindness, how much she cared; he knew he was lucky to have stayed friends with her. 

Draco kissed Astoria’s cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup. “Don’t you have something important to do?” He checked his watch as she pretended not to be dabbing at tears. “Looks to me like you have about 20 minutes to squeeze yourself into your wedding gown.”

“Fuck you. It fits just fine.” Astoria sniffled and took the handkerchief Draco offered to her. Draco snorted, and she added, “That’s it. I’m writing you into the next book as the evil head master. You’ll be egged. I promise.”

Draco flipped her off, laughing as she swept out of the room. He didn’t miss her flip him off in return.

~*~

Astoria and Ted said their vows in front of their closest friends. Scorpius was DadTed’s best man; Cordelia was Astoria’s maid of honor. 

Draco sat next to an empty chair; he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he wished Harry were there. 

Once Astoria and Ted were pronounced _husband and wife_ , Scorpius climbed into the chair next to Draco. “Will you save me food, Daddy? I’m so hungry, but Mummy says we have to take pictures.” Draco laughed at the look of devastation on Scorpius’ face.

Scorpius curled his pinky and held it out to his father. “Yes,” Draco said. “I pinky promise.” 

Happy now, Scorpius scampered away. Astoria’s grandmother was seated to Draco’s left and chatted with him at length about the horrible man her wonderful granddaughter had married the first time, without even a proper wedding. “We all thought she was in a family way, you know. And we waited and waited. Luckily, her son is beautiful, takes after her you know. Not that dreadful man.”

Draco bit his lips until he thought he might draw blood. How had he forgotten about her dotty grandmother? He wanted to be offended; instead, he used his energy not to laugh out loud. 

“You’re quite a handsome man yourself,” Grandmama said, sizing Draco up. “I’m not married, you know.” She grinned and stared intently at Draco’s crotch. 

Draco did laugh that time. “I’m so sorry. I, uh, prefer the company of men.”

Her face fell. “You’re homosexual? What a shame.”

Scorpius ran to Draco, his tie unraveled and holding something in his hand. “What’s this?” He held up the small twig of green leaves and tiny white berries.

Grandmama squinted. “Give it to me, boy.” When Scorpius handed it to her, she held it over her head and smiled coyly at Draco, who dutifully kissed Grandmama’s cheek.

She giggled, and Draco took the mistletoe and handed it back to Scorpius. “Tell you what. Go hold this over Mummy’s head.” Without any prodding, Scorpius was gone. 

Food appeared on the table—turkeys, stuffing, bottles of champagne, and before Draco could fill their plates, Scorpius was back, wiggling into his chair and laying a napkin onto his lap. 

“Guess what, Daddy? I love you!” Scorpius grinned happily as he speared some turkey with his fork. 

At the word _Daddy_ , Grandmama looked up. Draco saw her working out this new piece of information and wondered if she would realize she’d called him _horrible_ and _dreadful._

He offered her a glass of champagne before she could say anything. 

He ate and laughed, danced with Scorpius cuddled against his chest, and too soon, it was time for them to say good-bye to Astoria and Ted. They left the room, but the guests watched out the window, saw the bride and groom wave to them from a horse drawn sleigh. 

“Mummy says DadTed is her best friend,” Scorpius mumbled. “She said if you’re lucky, you marry your best friend.”

“That’s true.” Draco debated finding a spare bedroom here or Flooing home with a sleepy Scorpius. “Mummy and I were best friends.”

“Albus and I are best friends.”

Draco set Scorpius down on his feet, which woke him up enough. Draco knelt in front of his son. “Yeah? You’ve only just met him.”

“He said I was his best friend, too, while we were skating. Maybe I’ll marry him.”

Draco gently cradled Scorpius face. “That would be great, if that’s what you want to do. Sometimes, mummies marry daddies. But sometimes, mummies marry other mummies. And sometimes, daddies marry other daddies. You love who you love.”

They Floo’d home with Scorpius in Draco’s arms. As awkward as it was, it seemed preferable to searching for a 7-year-old boy in formal clothes, Merlin only knows where.  
Draco placed Scorpius, three-quarters asleep, into bed and quickly changed him out of his tiny tuxedo. 

“That’s what Mummy said, too. Especially that daddies can marry other daddies.” Scorpius said as he yawned. Draco finally picked up the thread of conversation.

“Did she?”

Scorpius nodded his head against the pillow. “Mummy used you and Mr. Harry as an example.”

Draco sighed. With friends like Astoria, who needed enemies. He chuckled and said, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, honey.”

But Scorpius was sound asleep, with Mary Berry cuddled on the pillow next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote from Marcus Aurelius is from [Bartleby Quotations](http://www.bartleby.com/2/3/2.html)


	17. Incalescence: Growing Hotter or More Ardent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A play date for the four kids, but also for two dads.
> 
> Brought to you loosely (very loosely) by this photo:  TBH, it's really chapter 18 that's this prompt, but what can you do? one chapter, one prompt :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a very funny thing. You write _Scorpion_ and your brain provides a lovely image of a tarantula (aka, spider). So you create a children's book series featuring a Scorpion and his 8 furry legs. And then you look at a picture of a Scorpion and realize that scorpion =/= spider. So you dance fast and make the Scorpion the best friend. sigh. Thanks brain. 
> 
> Also, the quote Astoria refers to is from HD Thoreau in Walden, a quote that's always spoken to me: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

Draco loved Scorpius; it flowed through every vein, every thought, each breath, sometimes overwhelming him to the point of both tears and laughter. He knew Scorpius was beyond bright, an inquisitive, passionate little boy. But Draco wasn't blind. He recognized his son was often shy to the point of rude, socially awkward, and too intense for his peers.

That he and Albus had already declared themselves best friends was incredible to him, and he would do everything he could to foster this friendship. Today, they would start with cookies.

The flat was downright cold, and Draco steeled himself as he struggled out from under the warm blankets. As quickly as possible, he tossed on a pair jeans and his warmest jumper. He even deigned to slip on socks and trainers rather than being bare-foot. Thankful for the Muggle gift of central heating, he turned up the thermostat, and it cycled on immediately; in a few, the flat would be toasty. And once he had coffee, he’d owl Harry about a playdate—for them _and_ for the kids. So, coffee first.

He shivered again, not from the cold, but from remembering the incalescence of Harry’s hands on his body. Taking time to learn Draco’s body, what made him shudder, what made him cry out, listening to Draco’s body and remembering. Heating the room better than Muggle heating ever could.

Gentle tapping pulled him from his thoughts, and Draco pressed at his growing erection and opened the window for the tiny owl staring at him. The cold blasted him, and he shut the window as quickly as he could once the owl was on the mail table. The owl held up his leg for Draco, completing his appointed task with earnest diligence, but once Draco slid the parchment from the leather lace, the owl hooted and bounced until Draco offered him an owl treat. After three treats, the owl agreed to rest on the perch alongside Draco’s barn owl, who peered at the tiny interloper with disdain. Epicurus stepped sideways, as far from the overexcited visitor as possible.

Draco laughed and skritched his owl’s head. "You old fraud. You know you love the company." Epicurus conceded with a quiet hoot and buried his head under his wing.

Draco grinned as he sipped the coffee and read the message.

 

_Malfoy,_

_I couldn’t think of anything except you while I was in Washington, which caused a lot of problems in my meetings with the MACUSA (basically the US version of our Ministry of Magic). They roasted me pretty bad. I want to see you today, but I have all 3 kids. Ginny’s leaving for a road trip this afternoon. Before she goes, I want to talk to her. If you’re good with me bringing the kids, send a note back with Jigs._

_Harry_

 

“So, your name is Jigs,” Draco said, petting the owl’s head. At the sound of his name, Jigs hooted and bounced. “I see why he named you that.”

Draco searched for a quill that was useable, eventually finding one lodged between the couch cushions in the lounge. No matter how many he bought, he never had any, and he’ be damned if he would send a note in crayon or pencil.

He brought the quill and his coffee to the mail table and wrote as the two owls pretended not to watch.

 

_Potter,_

_I want to see you. Bring your children to the bookstore around 3, and we’ll decorate cookies. If you like, we can come back here, and I’ll make dinner. Scorpius doesn’t have school so his bedtime is flexible._

 

Draco re-read the note and after debating whether to close with ‘Draco’ or ‘Malfoy,’ he settled on a simple D. He attached the rolled parchment to Jigs’ leg, but immediately took it out and, without thinking, _definitely not_ thinking or changing his mind, he added a quick _xo_ under his initial.

“Go before I change my mind,” he said, opening the window and watching Jigs make his way home through the light flurries.

More coffee. He needed more coffee if he were going to be soppy and sentimental. _But maybe, just maybe, Harry wouldn’t mind it at all._

 

~*~

“They’re not here yet, Daddy.”

Scorpius had pulled one of the plump armchairs over to the bookstore’s front window and had been laser focused on each passerby ever since Draco had brought him to the store after the noon break. The only time he moved was when the front door chimed; each time, Scorpius raced to see who came in.

“You can’t say to our customers, _oh, it’s only you,_ ” Draco had admonished Scorpius and then apologized to the customers, who generally smiled at the explanation.

At quarter past 3, Scorpius announced that “they _still_ aren’t here, would _never, ever_ be here.”

“They’ll be here when they get here. Go find a book to read. See if you can find one of Mummy’s.” Draco pried Scorpius out of the chair and pushed him in the general direction of the children’s chapter books.

He returned with Astoria’s newest release: **Tales from a Boarding School Spider: A Very Leggy Christmas.** Taran (the tarantula main character) and Scorp (the scorpion best friend with white blond hair and a green and gray striped scarf) stay at school over the hols, eat too much candy, stay up too late, and teach each other to dance.

“Hey! Is that the new book? I haven’t read it yet!”

Scorpius looked up from the pages and squealed, loud enough that several customers stared. “I didn’t think you would ever get here!” He jumped up and hugged Albus, then Jamie, and Lily.

“I didn’t think you’d ever get here, either,” Draco whispered to Harry, while the kids were gathered around Scorpius and the book. He slid his fingers between Harry’s and squeezed before letting go.

“Taran’s best friend has hair just like yours!” Lily looked from the illustration to Scorpius and back.

“It is me,” Scorpius said, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Mummy makes these books.”

Jamie scoffed. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Actually, she does.” Draco stepped in and gently took the book from Scorpius. He showed them the dedication page, which read _For my baby scorpion SM, who’s all love and no stings._ “SM is Scorpius Malfoy. She dedicates every book to him.”

Draco drew in a sharp breath as he read the second dedication. _For my best friend, who shares this gift with me. Find love, hold it, cherish it. Don’t **discover that {you} have not lived.**_

Draco bit his lip as he closed the book, turning away from the kids and trying not to give in to the tears stinging his eyes. Astoria knew he’d dedicated his life to being a father, to being everything Lucius never was. And somehow, she’d known that he would need to give himself permission to be happy.

He sensed more than felt Harry next to him, offering Draco space if he wanted it or support if he needed it. _Find love. Hold it. Cherish it._ Draco stepped closer to Harry and leaned into him. He felt Harry brace himself to support Draco, to share his strength and allow Draco to be unsteady.

Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s neck. He was overwhelmed by his emotions, happy that Harry was back, grateful to Astoria, and trying hard to keep the tumbling, whirling giddiness of new love ( _yes, I think I can say love_ ) at bay. “I’m glad you’re here. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Harry rested his hand on the small of Draco’s back and leaned in close enough to brush his lips against the shell of Draco’s ear. “I haven’t done anything yet,” he whispered. “But oh, I plan to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK if i say this enough, but thank you. So many times, when I am in desperate need of a pick me up, I check my email and there's an amazing comment or just some serious hugs and love, and I'm good to go. Your words mean so much to me.


	18. There's Icing on that Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids are busy decorating gingerbread cookies. Draco and Harry are busy, too
> 
> Today's episode is brought to you by the pic  and 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19 is a weird number of chapters. It messes with my OCD. But there you go. We are 18/19% finished. lol.

Draco ushered Harry and the children upstairs. Albus and Lily each clutched one of Astoria’s books, but Jamie chose a football book because he was “too old for a stupid baby book.”

"Believe me he'll have both of those read by bedtime," Harry said nodding to the two _Tales of a Boarding School Spider_ books.

Draco opened the door to his little flat and motioned for Harry and the kids to step inside. "I’ve redecorated since you were here last,” Draco said with a blush rising on his cheeks. When Harry smiled, Draco defended himself. “It was time. It needed a renovation and paint. An extension charm,” he said as he waved his hand toward the new back hallway. “Possibly a master bedroom with a loo. And a silencing charm.” Draco bit his tongue and looked away. He felt the heat at the tip of his ears.

Never. He’d never been as forward with anyone as he was with Harry.

And he might blush. Oh, Merlin, would he blush. But Harry smiled as the color rose up Draco’s neck and his fingertips brushed Draco’s. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Draco coughed and covered his mouth, hoping Scorpius would think it were just mannerly, the right thing to do. But Draco hadn’t dared answer Harry; what he would have said wouldn’t be for anyone’s ears but Harry’s.

“Who—” Draco began, but stopped because his voice was at least an octave too high. “Who wants to make gingerbread men?” 

With Scorpius in the lead, the kids shouted _me!_ and ran to the kitchen; Draco had set a place for each of them with an apron and a set of utensils that would fit their hands.

Harry watched the contained chaos as his children inspected each item, pressed them against each other, stole someone else’s cookie cutter. “This is brilliant.”

Draco pointed to one of the two empty seats. “There’s one with your name on it, too.” 

Harry grinned and beelined to his chair; he unfolded the apron and dropped it over his head. When Lily laughed at him, Harry laughed with her, proudly underlining his name on the apron with his finger.

Draco removed the dough from the refrigerator and handed each person a chilled packet. “Next time, we’ll plan better so you can make your own dough.”

“We’re not busy tomorrow!” Albus announced, bumping his shoulder into Scorpius’ as he unwrapped the plastic.

The deep, rich aroma of molasses and autumn spices swirled around the kitchen as Draco taught them to lightly flour the table (“No, Scorpius. The table. _Not_ Albus!”), to roll the dough evenly (“Lily, it’s not about having the biggest one.” Which made Harry snigger and Draco blush), and the best way to wiggle the dough out of the cutters.

“Granma bakes all the time,” Lily said, placing her gingerbread girls onto the silicone baking mat, careful to keep their legs attached and their Witch hats in one piece. “She doesn’t show us like you do, though.”

Draco bit his lip and thought, wanting to find words that would be supportive and not reproachful. “I’m sure your grandmother is very busy. But maybe next time, if you asked her if you could help, she’d let you.”

“I love her,” Lily said as she picked at the dough between her fingers. The boys were long gone from the table, cookies forgotten in favor of video games on the telly. Harry untied her apron and helped her lift it over her head.

Draco nudged her cookie sheet into the oven with the others and gathered the cookie cutters and utensils. “You’re a Weasley. That’s a pretty terrific family to belong to.”

Lily nodded emphatically, her pony tails bobbing. Before she could say anything more, Jamie called her to the telly and she was gone.

Draco dropped the cutters and rolling pins into the hot, soapy water. A bubble popped up from the sink and floated past him, close enough that Draco could blow it away. He plunged his hands into water and thought thoughts he hadn’t wanted to think.

He was a Malfoy, a name that inspired fear and envy. He’d been raised with the best of everything; they’d owned a generous estate removed from neighbors, a sizable art collection, an overflowing vault. His parents employed personal tailors and gourmet chefs.

He’d been taught to sneer at families like the Weasleys, with their ridiculous tottery house and their obvious lack of birth control. Their threadbare clothes, far out of style. As one of the Sacred 28, Mr. Weasley was a disgrace to his heritage with his lack of ambition and his Muggle love.

What Draco had never told anyone, not even Pansy when they’d shared an apartment and rationed out beans from a tin, was that for all the horrible snipes he’d leveled at the Weasleys at Hogwarts, he’d been envious of their stupid family. For all of the luxuries he’d been surround by, Draco had never been as happy as the ginger haired gits at the Gryffindor table, laughing too loud, catching each other in headlocks and Bat Bogey hexes.

Today, he’d told Lily Weasley-Potter that she was lucky.

Oh, if Lucius were alive to hear that, well, it would have killed him. Draco stared at the sink without seeing his hands working the baby bottle brush into the small corners of the cookie cutters. With that one statement to a little girl, Draco recognized the depth of his transformation from someone’s child to his own man.

“I think that’s as clean as it’s gonna get,” Harry said, threading his arms around Draco’s waist. His breath tickled Draco’s neck, a tingling that fluttered down his chest, grazing his nipples and cock.

Draco mewled in pleasure as Harry pressed against him, warm and heavy. “The kids are in the next room.”

Harry’s voice was low and smooth. “They can’t see us over here,” he said against Draco’s ear. He canted his hips, and Draco felt the hard line of Harry’s erection pushing against his ass, allowing himself to let go, to fall into the sensation.

Not only of Harry’s body, but of Harry. Of this. Whatever _this_ was.

The ugly buzz of the timer jarred them from their moment. Harry sighed loudly as Draco extricated himself, and when Draco leaned over to take the cookies from the oven, Harry wolf-whistled at his arse. Draco shimmied for a moment before standing up.

“I like your flat. The view here is _very_ nice.” Harry wiggled his eyebrows and Draco really, really wished they were alone.

“Tea?” Draco asked, working to hold his composure when what he wanted was to take Harry to bed. “Or coffee? But it’s almost 6. Some people don’t like coffee so late in the evening.” He poured water into the coffeemaker without waiting for Harry’s answer.

“The kids asked if they could have a sleepover here, and I said that sounded brilliant,” Harry said. “So coffee, because I plan on being awake all night.”

Draco started the coffee, and as he turned around, Harry was right there, crowding him against the counter. He brought his hands to Draco’s cheeks, smoothed over his skin with a tender gentleness. When he leaned in, he brushed his lips over Draco’s and repeated, “Yeah. I’m gonna be awake all night.” 

Draco’s arguments melted away as he kissed Harry deeply. He lost his thoughts in the warmth of Harry's mouth, the way his tongue drifted across Draco’s lips. In the strength of Harry’s arms as they encircled his waist. 

Draco had had concerns. Something about the kids. But they were busy watching telly. “I missed you while you were away,” Draco whispered against Harry’s lips. “Is that stupid?”

“Why would it be?”

“We’ve only just--” 

Harry cut him off with another kiss. “Not stupid. At all.”

“When can we decorate the cookies?” Scorpius hollered from the lounge, and the two men backed away each other. Draco grabbed the coffee and two mugs. Harry sat at the table, his chair pulled in close enough that his tented crotch was hidden by the battered, well-used table. 

“We can start now,” Draco answered as he poured the dark, aromatic coffee and handed Harry a mug. With a sad smile, Draco mouthed _sorry._ ’’

Harry’s fingers lingered on Draco’s as he took the cup. He shook his head and said, “Don’t be. This is family life.”

The kids burst into the room and jockeyed for position at the table, scraping chairs against the tile floor as they made more room. Harry hopped his chair as far into the corner of the table as he could.

Draco brought a tray of piping bags to the table. Each bag was filled with bright colored icing. He spent only a few moments explaining how to use the bags; from the way their fingers twitched as they held back from grabbing the bags, he was sure they were only half listening.

“Would you like one, Mr. Harry?” Draco asked, offering Harry a plate of cookies and piping bags with scarlet and gold icing, like the Hogwarts tie he’d worn for so many years.

Harry looked joyous. His smile was bright, brighter than any sun Draco had flown toward in Quidditch. Harry sat squeezed into the table’s corner, surrounded by children and chaos, and Draco had never seen him more radiant, more at ease. _Well, except for the other night._ He had a way with people that Draco didn’t. Couldn’t. When Harry spoke to someone, even a child, that person had his full attention, no matter how divided he was. At that moment, Lily was draping his apron over Harry’s head while he was tying Jamie’s apron strings into a lazy bow at his back. And yet, as he answered Scorpius’ question about an ice skating trip, his eyes never left Scorpius, his train of thought never strayed. 

Draco knew how it felt to be the center of Harry’s focus. It was like finding a rare sunbeam on a frigid winter day. You let the warmth envelop you until you shivered in comfort and delight, until you thawed and the stress evaporated, leaving you bright and more hopeful than before. 

Harry turned toward Draco and grinned. The intensity of his green eyes and the infectious grin hit Draco, weakening his knees. 

Oh, Merlin. 

He was helpless. 

“No, thanks. If you don’t mind, let’s talk about the party?” Harry pushed his chair away from the table and stood. His eyes slid down Draco’s body to his trousers and then back up. When his gaze met Draco’s, Harry winked. And smiled, his tongue slowly, deliberately brushing across his lips. 

Which did nothing to help Draco’s cock, already a traitor because it wouldn’t pay any attention to his attempts to will it flaccid. Harry dropped his napkin and apologized for his clumsiness, but when he bent over to pick it up, he made sure his arse was directed toward Draco. 

Returning the favor, Harry may have shimmied his hips. Just a little. 

Draco whimpered. Just a little. 

Thank Merlin for aprons that hide rebel pricks that don’t listen.

“Daddy. Look at my trees!” Scorpius held up a gingerbread Christmas tree, in danger of dripping green royal icing down his arm. 

Draco growled in frustration. Either the sexual tension was going to kill him or the constant interruptions would. He dragged his thoughts away from his cock and looked at Scorpius’ creation. _At least it will look festive,_ Draco thought, eyeing the red streaks already there. 

The kids were happy, talking and singing as they decorated their trees. Harry waited for him at the breakfast bar, where they stood and discussed the Fawkes House Christmas party. 

Draco listened to Harry’s descriptions of previous events and suggested ideas for food and activities, tweaked others. Harry beamed at Draco’s offer of books for each child in addition to the gifts the foundation would purchase. 

And eventually (and loudly) they settled on Christmas Eve for the Fawkes House party, because, in Harry’s words (while he howled with laughter), “You want to miss Christmas Day at The Burrow? Malfoy, you must be daft. Molly Weasley would have our heads if you’re not there.”

Draco intended to say, “I can host the party…”

And then Harry’s words filtered through the chaos of Christmas carols and children.

Christmas Day. The Burrow. 

_If you’re not there._

Draco must have misunderstood. 

Harry wiped the tears from his eyes and hiccupped from laughing. “What? Of course you and Scorpius are invited, and good luck trying to say no.”

Harry pointed at Draco’s face, slack from shock, and laughed again.

Draco thought he heard something about “…probably busy knitting you a jumper.”

But that made no sense at all.


	19. Grab Life By the Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New beginnings come from endings. 
> 
> Brought to you by not one single photo. lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may see that I switched verb tenses at the beginning of this chapter. To me, there's just something about a good sex scene that needs to be in the present tense, like we're right there with them. I hope it works for you.
> 
> Too many things to wrap up for one last chapter. So, 20 it is. Which is much better for my twitchy nerves. :D

“I wish you were inside me,” Harry whispers into the darkness.

The silence crackles with his hunger and desperation; it shivers across Draco’s chest and down his belly, settling in his balls, already too tight. He’s fought to control his own orgasm since Harry straddled his face and eased his cock into Draco’s mouth, stretching the circle of Draco’s lips.

Draco swallows around Harry, loses himself in the short thrusts and the weight of the cock on his tongue. Harry’s trembling above him, struggling, holding back, trying not to overwhelm Draco.

But his words, his hesitation are too much, and Draco surrenders to what Harry didn’t say.

_I’ll take my pleasure, but I’ll make sure you’ll be pleased. I’ll watch out for you; I’ll watch over you. I can’t do this alone. I’m better with you._

Draco loves Harry.

He’d tell Harry, if his mouth weren’t full.

Instead, he skims his hands down Harry’s sides and over his hips. He grabs Harry’s arse; it’s not a gentle touch, but a firm grip with his nails biting into Harry’s flesh. Draco hopes Harry hears the echo in his actions.

_I will give you pleasure because I know you’ll make sure I’m pleased. I’ll watch out for you and I’ll watch over you. I can do this alone, but I’m better with you._

Harry abandons his restraint and fucks Draco’s mouth as he repeats Draco’s name like a holy chant. He doesn’t take long before he’s coming.

Draco swallows and swallows, feels Harry’s arms shake with his final thrusts before slowly dragging out and collapsing on the bed. Harry lies next to him, panting and sweaty. He’s a wreck, and he’s beautiful.

Draco’s too impatient, too ready to wait for Harry to recover. He licks his palm and then slides it through the pre-come pooling at his slit. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. Draco turns to Harry, whose eyes are heavy lidded, but he’s watching and murmuring praise.

Draco tightens his fist, and with each thrust he imagines it’s Harry’s arse clenching him, holding him, until he spills over his fist sooner than he wanted to, but it feels like he’s flying, like he’ll never be mortal and walk again.

Harry casts a cleaning charm that’s warm and tingly. Draco curls into Harry, who smells of sex and love, which aren’t always the same thing. But for Draco, they are now.

And when they sleep, Draco dreams they’re swans, flying, circling a cool, inviting pond before landing within seconds of each other.

~*~

 

“I never pictured you as a cuddler.”

The words pull Draco from his half-sleep. He’s wrapped around Harry, who’s still naked, and he smiles when Harry holds him tighter.

“It’s only six,” Harry said into Draco’s hair, “but I hear the kids out there, and I didn’t know if they’d try to come in, and we never talked about—” His voice drifted off.

Draco nodded. His brain was thick with sleep, and his thoughts were jumbled beyond one: _Harry’s here._ With more energy than he felt, Draco rolled out of bed and headed for his loo. He pissed and washed his hands, splashed water on his face.

When he slid back under the sheets, he lay next to Harry, still naked, their hips together and their fingers entwined.

“I talked to Gin yesterday,” Harry said, his thumb caressing Draco’s hand.

Draco held his breath. He hadn’t wanted to press; it wasn’t his to ask, but rational or not, he felt like his future was on the line. “What did you say?”

“Told her it was time. That I found someone important, and I wanted to start without any lies.”

_I’m important._ Draco thought, hoping that the winter half-light hid his goofy grin.

Harry turned to Draco and kissed him before continuing. “So after Christmas, I’ll be looking for a flat.”

“I’ll help, if you like,” Draco offered, nuzzling the soft skin behind Harry’s ear. “Then we can christen it.”

A dozen sharp raps on the door interrupted any plans they had. “Daddy? Is Mr. Harry in there?”

Harry groaned and scrubbed his face with his hand. “I tell you—the flat will definitely be a No-Kids Allowed zone.”

“What’s the problem, Scorpius?” Draco asked, holding back a laugh. “Shit, I can’t tell him to come in, because—” He waves his hand over the one bed, the messy sheets, their clothes strewn around the room, not to mention the air that’s still heavy with sex. 

“Lily locked herself in the loo and won’t let us in, and we havta pee really bad.”

Draco swore he could hear the boys jumping up and down outside his door.

“We should probably tell them we’re dating,” Harry said as he scrambled out of bed and into yesterday’s pants and trousers.

“He’s in the loo,” Draco lied without blinking. “He’ll be right there.” He left the bed, pulling on clothes while he cast a spell splitting his queen-size mattress into two twin beds.

Harry cast a quick air freshening charm before he left the room to deal with Lily. Draco stood between the two beds and closed his eyes. He thought, just maybe, he could still catch the scent of them.

“Me, first!”

“No, _me_ first!”

Scorpius and Albus raced into Draco’s bedroom trying to beat the other into the loo. Like a bad 1970s sitcom, the boys jammed each other against the doorframe; neither was willing to move because the other might get to the toilet first. They yelled at each other to get out of the way, but Draco, who didn’t bother hiding his laughter, pulled out his wand and did what any good Wizard father would in the situation. He widened the door’s frame and laughed even harder when the boys fell onto the floor.

“The toilet has two sides,” Draco said, grabbing each boy by the arm and hauling them up. “Just don’t pee on each other.” He immediately regretted giving them any idea and cast temporary shield charms.

By the time Draco supervised the boys clean-up of the loo (because his plan backfired and peeing into the shield charm was even more fun until it splash onto the pee-er), Harry was already in the kitchen, handing out bowls of cereal. For the sake of coffee and quiet, Draco allowed them to eat in front of the telly.

Draco poured two mugs of coffee and, as casually as he could, asked what else Ginny had said. 

“That it was about time I got off my arse and found someone, and if there’s a wedding, she better be invited.” Harry laughed as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “She didn’t ask who and I didn’t tell her, because we hadn’t talked about that. Kind of like with the kids.”

Draco picked at a blueberry muffin he’d toasted. “Would you like to? Tell people, I mean?”

Harry nodded without hesitation.

Draco pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “Scorpius, Lily, Albus, James. Would you please come here?”

Draco thought Harry looked a little pale; he definitely saw Harry’s hand shake as he tapped his spoon against the mug’s rim. “Mr. Harry and I are dating.” Draco held his breath waiting for any comment.

No one said anything.

Then chaos erupted. 

“Daddy! You didn’t say we had blueberry muffins!”

“Oops, I spilled my milk on Al!”

“Merlin’s saggy tit, Jamie, now my pants are wet!”

“Better go change them, pee pee baby.”

Al ran up the hall to the loo, first yelling as Jamie chased him and then yelling because Lily had locked herself in the loo again. Scorpius stole half of the blueberry muffin. Harry sat, shocked and speechless.

Draco sat down in his chair and pulled it back to the table. He raised an eyebrow at his missing breakfast, but mostly he was overjoyed at the kids’ responses.

When breakfast was cleaned up and the sleeping bags were shrunk and packed away, the kids shouted their goodbyes and ran ahead, their voices echoing in the stairwell. Harry stood in the open doorway. “Can I kiss you?” he asked awkwardly, looking for permission since Scorpius was at Draco’s side.

Scorpius had never seen his father intimate with anyone. Not holding hands or sitting pressed together. Certainly not kissing. Draco had no idea what his son’s reaction would be. If he would be angry about his father kissing another man or having to share him with someone else.

But Draco couldn’t let those concerns control him. Astoria was right. He did deserve a life of his own, apart from his son. 

With a deep breath, Draco walked the few steps to Harry. He smiled softly and brushed his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone, the heavy growth of morning whiskers that had grown overnight. “You can always kiss me,” Draco said and pressed his lips to Harry’s. It was chaste and lovely, more warmth and love than desire or need.

“Ewwwwwgross.”

Draco smiled against Harry’s lips. 

“You’re worse than Mummy and DadTed. Gross.” Scorpius stuck his tongue out and shuddered in protest before running back to the telly.

Harry laughed before kissing Draco again. “Our kids are idiots.”

“But they’re our idiots.” Draco slid his hand in Harry’s and gently squeezed it; he’d have to let go soon, lose the warmth of their physical connection, but not quite yet. “And they come by it honestly.” 

Once Harry left, Draco moved quickly through his morning routine; even though he was stupid late with his baking this morning, he needed at least a shower to finish waking him up. And cool him down, since their lovely, chaste kisses had in fact turned heated and needed.

“C’mon, Scorpius,” Draco called from the kitchen as he pulled packages of sugar cookies and chocolate chip bars from the freezer. He said a silent _thank you_ to his old self for thinking ahead. “We have to go downstairs.” He’d taken too much time off the past few days, and no matter how much money he had at Gringott’s, he needed to work—if only because customers relied on him.

Scorpius tore out of his room, a bright orange flash that stopped in front of his father. 

“ _What_ are you wearing?” Draco squawked, looking at the hideous shirt his son wore.

Scorpius grinned happily as he pulled the hem of his shirt out to show his father. “Al and I switched shirts. It’s the Chudley Cannons. They play something called Quidditch.”

Oh, sweet Merlin. This might just be more than he could endure. The Chudley Cannons? And with Genevra playing for the Harpies—she must be having a fit.

“I like the color,” Scorpius added, pushing his shirt down. “He said I can give it back to him on Sunday when we go to his Granma’s for Christmas.”

Draco swallowed hard. How could he explain to Scorpius that they weren’t _really_ invited, no matter what Harry or Al said. Talk about having a fit. He couldn’t imagine ever being welcomed into the Weasley house. 

Too much history: foul language, torture, ugliness. Draco rolled his eyes at himself; those words rolled from his tongue, but no matter how many years removed or how much he’d changed, he doubted anyone would forgive him.  
Draco grabbed the cookie packages from the counter and herded Scorpius down to the store. “Sometimes, people say things,” Draco said, sitting Scorpius at a table with his crayons and paper. “They mean them when they say it, but it’s not real.”

Scorpius looked confused, and Draco couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure he understood why people were so complicated. “I’m sure that Al thought we would go to his grandmother’s for Christmas, but I think he didn’t ask his father first. Besides,” Draco said, handing Scorpius hot cocoa in his favorite mug, “We have our own tradition. We make your favorite dinner and then we walk around our neighborhood at look at Christmas lights.”

Scorpius sighed and kicked the chair opposite him. It rattled the table, spilling his hot cocoa. “Yeah. I guess.”

_Same, kid. Same._ Maybe it was wrong to disabuse him, but he thought it was better than expecting something that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, Draco turned up the music, and they sang Christmas carols as they worked. 

“Something smells good!” 

Draco jumped and squeaked, surprised by the new voice. Pansy lazily cast a stasis charm over the tray of cookies about to hit the floor. 

“You’re early,” Draco growled as he regained control of the display tray. 

Pansy yawned and covered her mouth with her left hand. “I am a little. I just haven’t seen you, love.”

Draco poured her a coffee, and she reached out with her left hand to take it from him. 

“Anything new with you?” she asked, carefully placing her left hand over his.

“You’re being odder than usual, Pansy.” Draco picked up her hand and dropped it to the counter. “Nothing new.”

He shoved another tray into the oven and handed Scorpius a window marker, asking him to draw Christmas trees on the outside of the display cases. 

“You have the manners of a mountain troll.” Pansy wrapped her left hand over Draco’s wrist and pulled him toward her. “Aren’t you going to ask _me_ what’s new?”

Draco sighed melodramatically and waited. _Add yet another item to the list of **Things I Hate About Pansy Parkinson.**_ Not really. He loved her. “Okay. What’s new?”

Pansy squealed and waved her left hand at him again. There, on her ring finger, sat a brilliant diamond, sparkling in the café’s fairy lights. “Blaise asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”

Draco hurried around the counter to hug Pansy, twirling her. “I thought you just had a problem with your hand,” Draco teased. 

Pansy smiled but edged Draco away from Scorpius. “I wanted to tell you, though. Blaise travels quite a bit for work, and I’d like to go with him. I made several calls to people who have inquired about _Babbitty Rabbitty_ in the past, and they’ve tendered an offer.”

Draco stopped, felt his muscles clench. Sell the store? They’d spent almost 10 years building this business, developing a reputation. 

“We won’t do it if you don’t agree, Draco,” Pansy said. She took his hand in hers and moved her head so he was looking in her eyes. “I’m serious. Anyway, It’s almost 9. We’ll discuss it later?”

Draco heard her words and knew that she thought she meant them, but her rounded shoulders and slow steps as she walked to the front door hit him hard. He couldn’t do that to her. People in love should be together, not separated by time or space.

“Parkinson!” Draco yelled across the store. “No quote today?”

She turned and grinned. “Grab life by the balls and if it fights back, squeeze hard.”

Draco liked that one. “Who said that?”

“Me!” And she unlocked the store’s front door to start the final six days before Christmas.


	20. We Are The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco makes changes in his life and is happier than he ever imagined.  
> Brought to you by the last two photos:  and 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for hanging with this. It definitely wasn't finished in 25 days, but I hope the wait was worth it. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments and your love. It means everything.

The six days passed in a flurry of snow and baking and baking and baking. Interrupted by the occasional owl from Harry with last minute details for Saturday’s Fawkes House party. 

Astoria had Firecalled early in the week, asking if Draco would be willing to flip-flop custody days with her. If it were alright with Scorpius, he could spend the week in France with Mummy and return to Daddy on Christmas Eve? He’d have the rest of the hols with Draco. She and Ted had the opportunity for an extended honeymoon at home alone.

Draco didn’t have difficulty selling it to Scorpius; turns out, 7 year olds are very happy to have an early Christmas and then another on the actual day.

There was only one glitch: Draco would have to bring Scorpius to Fawkes House.

 _That’s brilliant!_ Harry had written. _Ginny won’t be home from a road trip until Christmas day. I’ll bring J/A/L with me and the 4 of them can help._

He’d signed his note with an **X** and an **O.** Draco would absolutely deny that he folded that note carefully and slid it into his back pocket, and never ever once pulled it out during the day to re-read it and smile.

In truth, Draco didn’t mind sending Scorpius to France; it provided unrestricted time for him to bake and help Pansy during the store’s extended hours. Draco kept the café open until the last customer left the store, which (as they raced closer to Christmas Eve) could be almost midnight. In addition, several regular customers had asked him if they could purchase biscuits by the dozen as gifts for friends. No one had ever asked that before.

He flopped into bed each night, exhausted and mind-racing, generating list after list of things he had to do for the café, the party, and Christmas dinner with Scorpius. 

During one unexpected mid-morning lull, Draco pressed a warm madeleine and a cup of coffee into Pansy’s hand. “Sell the store, Pans,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheeks and leaving a streak of confectioner’s sugar behind. 

She turned to Draco and swiped her thumb over the tip of his nose, removing the powdered sugar. “What about you?”

Draco smiled, a little brighter than he felt, but he needed to do this for her. “I’ll spend time with Scorpius, maybe travel with him.”

“And Harry?” Pansy asked with a half-grin. 

Draco’s mouth fell open. “How the hell—”

The bells on the front door jangled, and Pansy announced, “Welcome! I’ll be with you in a mo!” She turned to Draco, and with a wink said, “I know lots of things, Malfoy.”

“Love you, too, Parkinson.” As she walked away, he called out, “I get to make the wedding cake.”

“Only ever you, Draco. Only ever you.”

More than anything, he’d miss her. Not working together was the current #1 on his list of things he hated about Pansy. 

 

~*~

 

Draco checked the GPS once again as he drove down a rutted dirt country street. More trees than open space, he couldn’t even see the shimmer of magic to locate where Fawkes House _might_ be.

After driving the street three times from entrance to dead end, he finally shut off the radio and the GPS. He cast a warming charm inside the SUV and opened the car’s windows, hoping to feel what he couldn’t see. 

Just about a half a kilometer ahead on the right, the trees had a different sheen and the snow wasn’t melting from the sun. Taking a chance, he turned right and drove into the copse of trees. The wards shivered and gave way, and Draco saw the Fawkes House.

Painted red and orange, the house teetered with different additions plunked atop each other, defying engineering. Kids dressed in heavy winter cloaks and ear hats played tag in the yard, occasionally throwing snowballs at each other.

But what Draco noticed was the joy in their play. It wasn’t magical; he could always sense a charm. The kids seemed genuinely happy, running and playing in the yard. Climbing the monkey bars and zipping down the slide before climbing back up again. ( _Those must be heated,_ Draco thought.)

The evergreen tree in the yard was heavily decorated with peanut butter and birdseed pinecones and every window of the house was painted or markered or covered in paper decorations. It was nothing like the proper Christmas decorations at Malfoy Manor, with its color schemes and fragile decorations. 

This was chaos and mayhem and indulgence. It was perfect. Draco laughed from the happiness that welled up in his chest. 

These children, who seemingly had nothing, had merry love. He, who’d grown up with everything, had had nothing.  
But he had Scorpius. And Harry. His family of choice was growing, and he laughed out loud in the car before he began crying from the poignancy of it.

“Can I play, too, Daddy?” Scorpius asked, his face plastered to the car window. 

“Let’s get the boxes inside and see what Mr. Harry needs from us, okay?” 

Draco handed Scorpius three light, square boxes of biscuits. From behind the boxes, Scorpius said, “I like Mr. Harry.”

Draco grinned, giddy with affection. “Me, too.”

Scorpius nodded, his knitted cap slipping down his forehead. “But are you two gonna keep kissing?”

Draco filled his own arms with boxes and pushed the door shut with his hip. “I’d like to,” he answered carefully. “Is that okay?”

Scorpius made a noise close to _bleeeeeech._ “Ew, no. It’s gross. I’m never gonna kiss anyone.”

Draco laughed, the sound echoing in the courtyard. “Good. I’ll remind you of that in ten years.”

Scorpius wasn’t listening, though. The side door to the house had opened, and Al tumbled out, followed by Jamie and Lily. Draco put them to work carrying boxes and trays into the kitchen.

Eventually, when they realized how many biscuits they were losing to four supposedly starving children, Harry banished them to the yard to play. He and Draco made short work of setting up the food table, with trays of biscuits interspersed with pyramids of Christmas crackers. 

The children flooded the room, devoured the biscuits and sipped the punch. Cheered for Santa and thanked him for their gifts. Sang carols, worked on crafts, spread glitter and glue. 

By the time the children said thank you and good-bye, Draco, Harry, and the husband and wife team who ran the house, collapsed exhausted into folding chairs.

“We probably have glitter all over our bums,” Elinore said, not moving to check. 

“Accio saved box,” Draco mumbled as he waved his wand. “Accio thermos.”

A lone bakery box, tied with red and white twine, and a silver thermos floated to him. “I made these for us.”  
Draco poured four cups of steaming coffee and handed around the cranberry-citrus biscuits. Tangy and sweet at the same time, they were perfect with the coffee.

Elinore groaned in pleasure. “Draco, these are perfect. I need to get some for my daughter’s wedding. Can I order some now or should I Firecall you? Is your number in your _Prophet_ advertisement?”

Stunned, Draco couldn’t speak. Harry reached over and squeezed his hand. “They’re great, aren’t they? He doesn’t advertise in the _Prophet,_ though.”

Stephen tutted at that. “Missing a big market, young man. Plenty of people would buy your desserts. I _may_ have been snacking as I was serving.”

Stephen’s words fanned the ember of an idea that Draco’d been nurturing at the same time he’d been hiding it. Maybe he would speak to Harry.

The four wordlessly agreed it was time to clean, and Thank Merlin for magic, it took a third of the time it would have taken the Muggle way. 

As they packed the kids into Draco’s car to head back to Islington, Stephen pulled Draco aside. He handed Draco his business card. “I know a good thing when I taste it, kid. I have a few buildings in Diagon Alley that would be perfect for a bakery. Place needs one. Think about it.” He clapped Draco’s shoulder and walked over the tamped down snow back into the house.

Draco found an All Christmas Music radio station, which kept the kids quiet as he drove and thought. 

His own store. In Diagon Alley. It would be great to openly use magic. Was the Wizard world ready for a Malfoy again? And more importantly, was he ready for the Wizarding world?

~*~

They made themselves at home in Draco and Scorpius’ flat. “I thought we could just stay here for tonight, since Santa is bringing the kids’ gifts to The Burrow,” Harry said as Draco rummaged in the refrigerator for something to feed the kids for dinner. “Can I borrow your owl to send a message to Molly? She wants to know your favorite color.”

Draco pulled his head out of the fridge. “You can borrow whatever you want. But who’s Molly and why does she want to know my favorite color?”

Harry laughed as he picked up a quill. “Molly Weasley, and I suppose she’s knitting you a gift.”

Draco shut the fridge door, no closer to dinner than before. “You’re talking gibberish, Potter. What are you on about?”

Harry put the quill back on the table and strode to Draco. “Christmas at The Burrow. I’m pretty sure Molly is knitting you a Christmas present. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

For the second time that night, Draco was speechless. “Christmas with the Weasleys?”

Harry stepped back and looked at Draco’s face. “I’m sorry, I thought—You’re invited to the Weasleys tomorrow to celebrate Christmas. We’ll all be there. Ron and Hermione with their kids. Ron’s brothers and their families.”

“Why?”

Why us, Draco meant. Why would they want me there, with the horrible things I said about them, all of them. Shame burned through him, after all these years.

Harry carefully threaded his arms around Draco’s waist. “Because you’re important to me and the kids and that makes you important to them. Ten years is a long time, Draco. People change, or, well, some do. The Weasleys’ll see who you are, not who you were, any more than they’d want to be remembered for who they were then.”

Eventually, Draco dropped his forehead to Harry’s shoulder and nodded. 

“Besides,” Harry said. “Christmas should be spent with people you—love. And who love you.” He stammered at the word but didn’t stop. 

Draco raised his head, tucked one of Harry’s stray curls behind his ear. He grinned and nodded. “Emerald green. Scorpius, too.”

“So predictable, Malfoy.” Harry kissed him gently. “A Slytherin to the end.”

“I love you too, Potter.” He kissed Harry back before the kids could interrupt with editorial comments. 

~*~

Harry hadn’t lied.

The seams of The Burrow burst with Weasleys and Potters. Draco counted at least 25 children and grandchildren, and Molly (who’d grabbed Draco into a mama bear hug and whispered _Thanks for making our Harry so happy_ ) radiated joy. 

Draco presented her with a tray of biscuits he’d baked last night. Molly didn’t thank him; instead, she unwrapped them and bit into one of the madeleines. She made a noise of pleasure that he honestly never wanted to hear again. “Oh, Harry’s right. These are orgasmic.”

Ron, who happened to be waiting to grab a biscuit, squeaked in shock. “Mum! Don’t ever, ever, say that again. Please.”

“Ronald, you have children,” she said, swatting his hand away from the tray. “I’m assuming you’ve had at least two orgasms in your life.”

He squeaked again and left as quickly as he could.

“That’s him sorted,” Molly said with a chuckle. “He thought I was going to share. Fool boy.”

Maybe Stephen was right, Draco thought. Not a bakery in Diagon Alley, though. That would be like starting over again. Draco would call him after Boxing Day, see if he had any Muggle contacts, someone willing to back a start up catering company that specialized in weddings. When he could find a quiet second, he’d tell Harry, but given the maelstrom of the morning, it would likely be in bed that night.

After breakfast, the 30-plus of them managed to fit into the lounge around the Christmas tree, with its white fairy lights and red star atop. Everyone had a pile of presents, including Scorpius and Draco. 

Draco saved the bulky, lumpy gift for last, assuming it was something hand knit. Scorpius had already pulled Al’s sky blue jumper over his head because Al wore Scorpius’ deep green jumper. Draco wasn’t sure who stole whose first.

Draco unwrapped his package slowly, wanting the morning to last as long as possible. Like the Fawkes House celebrating, this was nothing he’d ever experienced. Not controlled, precise, perfect. This was shouting names across the room and lobbing gifts. It was shredded paper everywhere and no one silently criticizing him for it. 

“Go ahead, then. Open it,” Harry said, perched on the arm of the chair next to Draco. “It likely won’t bite.”

Draco unwrapped a forest green jumper with thin garnet and gold threads knitted in. A large, grey D filled the front. 

Harry showed Draco the jumper Molly had knitted for him. Garnet with thin emerald and silver threads running through. 

Ginny (who’d only just arrived) leaned against the doorway, cradling her cup of coffee as she watched them. Draco looked at her; she flashed him a kind smile and a thumbs up. 

“Congratulations,” Harry said, as he pulled the jumper over Draco’s head. “You’re officially part of the Weasley-Potter family. You have the jumper and Ginny’s approval.”

Harry kissed Draco, not a short, sweet peck, but a full-on snog, as if he were making a statement. Heat rose up Draco’s body partly in embarrassment but mostly from how much he wanted Harry, the desire that they never quite sated. 

“C’mon, mate,” Ron groaned, throwing a pillow at Harry. “Can you stop that now?”

Harry pulled out of the kissing long enough to say, “No. I really don’t think we can.”

“Malfoy—” Ron whined. “Help a brother out.”

Draco laced his fingers in Harry’s and laid their hands on his lap. “Ronald, I suspect I’ll be kissing Potter like this for a long, long time to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter title also comes from the song, Hum Hallelujah from FallOut Boy.


End file.
